


some things last a long time

by xoxojossipjirl



Category: Gossip Girl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2020-11-15 11:13:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20865269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoxojossipjirl/pseuds/xoxojossipjirl
Summary: Where are they now? Imagining a 10-episode Gossip Girl special set 2019-2020.





	1. Bande apart

_Gossip Girl here – your one and only source into the scandalous lives of Manhattan’s elite. _

_You may be under the impression that I died seven years ago. In a sense, that’s true. But as Faulkner said, the past is never dead - it’s not even past. I refuse to give up the ghost, and I’ve returned to do a little haunting. _

_My web domain may be defunct, but you know you’ll never really be able to get my voice out of your head. I’ve always been just over your shoulder… listening to your darkest secrets, watching your every move. _

_And I’m not going anywhere._

* * *

Dan Humphrey is in his favorite seat in his favorite coffeeshop. He has a double espresso and an open laptop, but inspiration is, yet again, failing to strike. He’s trying very hard not to think about how many mornings he’s spent in exactly this spot, doing exactly the same thing – which is to say, nothing. In fact, trying _not_ to think about _not_ writing is occupying an increasingly large portion of Dan’s daily schedule.

If he’s honest, he’s not sure he can remember the last time he felt truly inspired. In his darker moments, he thinks that while Gossip Girl might have been bad for his soul, at least it forced him to maintain a certain daily word count. Dan desperately wants to prove his critics wrong. It’s hard to get the words ‘pedestrian’ and ‘limited in range’ out of his mind; a not-so-tiny voice in his head points out that those criticisms are somewhat deserved.

After the _Vanity Fair_ profiles of this friends way back in 2012, he had enough leverage to get _Monarch of Manhattan_ published, and it seemed like he might have finally broken out of his pigeonhole – but while the dark-haired, sharp-tongued protagonist who schemes her way onto the throne of alt-universe New York may have been a hit with readers, Serena was less enthused.

His third novel, _Bombshell_, is about a tall, mysterious, beautiful blonde. _The_ _Paris Review_ called it “a disappointing return to form.” Dan would love to prove his talent doesn’t have to involve exploiting his famous friends. Especially because, at this point, he’s not sure if he has any talent – but he’s pretty certain he doesn’t have any friends.

* * *

Serena van der Woodsen is in the dining room of her spacious Brooklyn brownstone; a large, untouched bowl of berries sits on the table before her. Dan’s chair is empty – he likes to get an early start on the day’s writing, or so he says. He’s been very cagy about his work recently.

But Serena doesn’t mind having these moments to herself – once she gets to the office, her days are a frantic whirl of film production. She’s proud of having worked her way up the ladder; now, five years in, she’s the one sweeping into her office and demanding a latte instead of the one fetching it. She’s a leading member of the team developing Dan’s third book for the big screen – when her coworkers ask if the saintly blonde protagonist Selena is based on her, she only laughs coyly. He _is_ her husband, after all.

Serena has stopped idly flipping through the pages of last week’s Sunday Styles section; she’s vacantly contemplating a blueberry when her phone begins to buzz. She answers, pleasantly surprised.

* * *

Blair Waldorf is calling to invite Serena to lunch today, as she rushes out the door on her way to a meeting, balancing her cell phone, bag, folders, and cup of hot black coffee with practiced grace. It’s been ages since they last talked… Blair’s been so caught up in Paris Fashion Week. Plus, Blair is hoping Serena will wear a Waldorf design to a certain movie premiere later this month – Serena may not be an It Girl anymore, but she’s effortlessly aged into a sort of permanent New York royalty which, frankly, irritates the hell out of Blair. Blair is royalty too, naturally, but hers is a reign of, if not exactly _terror_, at least… effort.

Still, their relationship has mellowed over the years. The endless cycle of fights and reconciliation has slowed to a halt; they’re too busy now for the silly squabbles of their high school days. Blair has devoted herself to her business empire, and it must be admitted that Serena has held down that ridiculous film production job for a surprisingly long time. The petty part of Blair can’t help but note that _she_ went back to finish her degree at Columbia and just got her Fashion & Luxury MBA at NYU Stern, while Serena got _her_ current job by wearing a low-cut maxi-dress and running into Woody Allen at a party.

But Serena has lost some of her power to get under Blair’s skin; she lives in Brooklyn when she’s not on set in LA. Manhattan is Blair’s for the taking, and she’s never been one to miss an opportunity. Blair occupies herself with her thriving fashion line, her many charitable concerns, and her devoted, charming, wealthy husband, while Serena, by Blair’s reckoning, has exactly _none_ of those things. Most of the time, Blair feels a vague sense of affectionate pity for Serena; but it’s the sort of feeling that survives much better when Serena lives on the opposite side of the country.

* * *

Chuck Bass sits at the desk in his office; the room is full of dark wood and leather upholstery. It’s early, but he’s already holding his customary glass of scotch. His next meeting isn’t for hours. He lifts his glass up to catch the light and gazes at the amber liquid. “I’m Chuck Bass,” he whispers into the silence of his office. In recent years, he rarely has occasion to say those words to anyone; even the tourists know who Chuck Bass is, nowadays. He has an ever-expanding real estate empire. He has a beautiful, accomplished wife. He has a glass of scotch alone in his office every morning and wonders if this is what happiness feels like.

* * *

Nate Archibald is juggling coffee cups as he makes his way towards the _Spectator_ building. Ever since he lost the mayoral race, Nate’s been content to focus on journalism; after all, in 2019, what could be a nobler cause than keeping print media afloat? A chorus of “Hey, Nate!” rings out from the staff of bespectacled 20-somethings as he enters the office. “Sup, man?” Nate replies, high-fiving an editor. He swings by his executive assistant’s desk to drop off the coffee he brought for her. The sun is shining through the windows of his office, and it’s going to be another beautiful day in New York.

* * *

Jenny Humphrey is waiting at the Waldorf Designs atelier. As soon as Blair walks through the door, the barrage of information begins. Paris Fashion Week has just ended, but things are as hectic as ever. Buyers are calling, there are sketches to be looked at, a thousand details need to be discussed. Eventually Jenny has run through all the items on her list.

“Overall, I’d say fashion week was a success. At least our runway didn’t get crashed, like Chanel’s…”

Blair briefly glances up from her laptop. “Are you kidding? That was great publicity. And I want Gigi Hadid in our next show. She may not be much of a model, but she’s obviously an effective bouncer.”

Jenny laughs and starts to head back out to the workroom.

“Oh, one more thing – I’m having lunch with Serena today. Hopefully you’ll be capable of handling the fabric samples meeting on your own,” Blair says.

“Got it!” Jenny calls on her way out the door. When her back is turned to Blair, she allows herself a little grimace. Serena is now her sister-in-law, but they’ve never really moved past wary acceptance of each other. She grudgingly puts up with Serena for Dan’s sake, but she’s not sure why Blair still tolerates her.

* * *

Vanessa Abrams marches into Nate’s office five minutes late.

“Vanessa! It’s so great to see you.” Nate rises to give her an affectionate handshake. “I’m really looking forward to your interview with the Red Scare girls.”

Vanessa has been freelancing at the _Spectator_ for years; she’s been getting a lot of work after Nate’s attempt to pivot to video.

“I’ve got a video pitch I’d like to assign to you,” Nate continues. “There’s some up-and-coming artist who’s getting a lot of hype, and I’d like you to do a profile.”

Vanessa nods along.

“I think she’s represented by Rufus Humphrey’s gallery,” Nate adds.

Vanessa stops nodding. “Nate… I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

Nate looks at her quizzically. “Are you not on good terms with Rufus? I would have thought all that stuff with Dan was way in the past.”

“It is!” Vanessa says quickly. “I just… haven’t seen any of the Humphreys in a long time, and I think it might be better that way. For everyone.”

“Don’t be silly!” Nate says. “I’m sure Rufus would love to see you.” 

* * *

It’s a little harder these days for B and S to settle on a lunch spot – Serena’s been gluten-free for years. Blair is picking at a fennel and escarole salad while Serena artfully arranges her food for a photograph.

“Sorry – you know how Instagram is!” Serena laughs. “It’s so wonderful to see you, B! I still can’t believe you went vegan.”

“If Beyoncé can do it, so can I,” Blair replies, eyes narrowed.

“I know how hard it can be. Dan’s gone vegan a few times,” Serena says. “Now he does this thing where he doesn’t eat meat while the sun’s up? I think Jonathan Safran Foer told him about it.”

“Please, S, spare me the Humphrey stories,” Blair says, rolling her eyes.

“Come on, B. Be nice,” Serena says, a warning in her voice. “You know I’m a Humphrey, too, now.”

Blair holds up a hand dismissively. “I didn’t hear that, and I won’t respond to it. Now, please, tell me about work.”

* * *

Eric van der Woodsen is scrolling through his Twitter feed. He knows he should be grateful for this job as an attendant at Rufus' gallery; what else was he going to do with his degree in Gender Studies from Sarah Lawrence? And working for Rufus has the undeniable benefit of making Eric's mother absolutely furious, though she'd never admit it. But when Jenny is too busy to text him back (which, if he's honest, is most days), the job is... unbearably boring.

* * *

Dan and Serena meet in the hall – she’s coming home from work, and he’s heading out. A quick kiss (“Sorry, I’ve got that thing tonight.”) and then he’s gone. Serena swings by the fridge to grab a handful of berries before drifting into her boho-chic living room. With Dan gone, she has free reign to kick off her shoes and watch Grey’s Anatomy reruns.

Her cell phone buzzes with a message from Blair. It’s a link to an article about Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s lawsuit against UK tabloids.

_Finally!_ adds Blair.

Serena nods her head as she reads.

_He always was a stand-up guy_, she writes back to Blair. _I always wondered if things could have ended up differently between us… but I’m so glad he’s found happiness with Meghan. _

* * *

It's evening, and Blair has finally arrived at the Lincoln Center; she’s heading for the Library for the Performing Arts. After she grabs a glass of champagne and makes the rounds, she settles into her seat and waits. Tonight she’ll be elected to the New York Public Library’s Board of Trustees. She’s drafting an email in her head when she realizes the chairman is about to call her name.

“So, in conclusion, I’d like to extend a warm welcome our newest members of the board. Anne de la Renta…”

A smattering of polite applause.

“…Her Royal Highness Princess Firyal…”

Blair rolls her eyes.

“…Blair Waldorf…”

With a small smile, Blair sits up straight and inclines her head graciously.

“…and Daniel Humphrey.”

Dan is sitting in a corner, looking rumpled. He lifts his hand in a halfhearted wave as his name is called.

After the shock settles, Blair is practically vibrating with suppressed rage. She’s led a Humphrey-free existence for years, and she’s not about to allow that to change anytime soon.

* * *

_You know what they say – the more things change, the more they stay the same. _

_Welcome back, Upper East Siders. _

_XOXO_


	2. It’s the Great Pumpkin, Serena van der Woodsen

Serena is standing in the kitchen, sipping a mug of hot spiced lemon water as she finishes up a call with her assistant in LA.

“I think that’s about it. Sorry to make you get up so early, Emily,” Serena says.

“Oh, no problem! I have so much to do today anyway,” Emily replies.

Serena chuckles. “I hope we’re not over-working you!”

“No, not at all! It’s actually not work-related – I just need to get ready for my annual Halloween party.”

“Oh?” Serena murmurs, bored. She absently rolls a blueberry between her fingers. How much longer is this assistant going to keep her on the phone?

“I’ve always thought Halloween was such a special time for friends. All my oldest friends in the world come to my Halloween party, every year. I’m sure you know what that’s like,” Emily says warmly.

“Oh. Um, definitely,” Serena replies. “Well, have a great time, Emily. I’ll check in later.”

Serena hangs up with the assistant-in-LA’s words ringing in her ears. Is Halloween a time of friendship? Would her oldest friends even come to a Halloween party?

As Dan walks into the kitchen and says good morning, she looks up from her phone. Inspiration has struck. “I’ve been thinking, Dan. We should have a Halloween party.”

Dan grimaces. “A Halloween party? Isn’t that a little… juvenile?”

“Not juvenile!” Serena argues. “Just… old school. Come on – think how much fun it’ll be. Carving pumpkins. Cider. Costumes!”

She can tell Dan is still hesitant. “It’s just… growing up, I never really got a chance to have a normal Halloween. It’s hard to trick-or-treat from the penthouse.”

Dan can feel himself softening. After all these years, some part of Serena’s poor-little-rich-girl routine still tugs on his heartstrings. And he gets the sense that, as usual, resistance to this party will be futile.

“I guess it has been a while since we’ve had a party,” Dan admits. “I think I’ve got a vampire costume buried in a closet somewhere.”

Serena laughs. “Oh, don’t worry about that! I’ll take care of everything.” She lapses into a happy silence, typing out an email to the caterers. Dan begins to make coffee, struggling to think of something else to say. It’s amazing how much quieter this kitchen feels on the rare mornings when Serena is home.

* * *

Blair is rushing to a meeting when she sees Serena heading towards her on the street, arms loaded with shopping bags.

“B!” Serena shouts merrily. “Great news. I’m throwing a Halloween party!”

Blair steps back from their hug. “A Halloween party? Do you mean a masked ball? Or are you also re-enrolling in elementary school?”

Serena laughs. “An old-fashioned Halloween party, B. I got decorations, and I’m making punch! And yes, you have to come.”

“How… plebian,” Blair says. She reaches up to pull a piece of orange streamer from Serena’s tousled hair. “At least your Caroline Calloway costume is coming along nicely.”

Serena clasps Blair’s hand earnestly. “Please, B. I’m inviting Nate, too. It’s been so long since we all saw each other.”

Blair rolls her eyes. “I saw Nate two days ago for dinner, S. And here I am, talking to you now. Don’t you think that’s more than enough togetherness?”

Serena continues to look at her pleadingly, and Blair relents a little. “_Fine_. Text me the details. I’m going to be late,” Blair says, looking at her watch.

“Yay!” Serena shouts at Blair’s retreating back. Blair rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.

* * *

Vanessa gave herself plenty of time to get to Rufus’ studio. Too much time, in fact. She’s fifteen minutes early and already outside, pacing the sidewalk. If she waits till the last second to go in, she might not even have to see Rufus. Of course, Vanessa knows she’s being ridiculous. She probably won’t have to talk to Rufus at all, no matter when she goes in. She’s wasting valuable prep time standing out here –

A cheery cry of “Vanessa!” interrupts her thoughts, and just like that, she’s face-to-face with Rufus Humphrey.

“Rufus!” She manages to gasp out as they hug, awkwardly. “It’s been so long.”

“Too long,” Rufus says warmly.

* * *

Blair enters her vestibule and begins to shrug off her coat. A moment later, Dorota appears. “Hello, Miss Blair.”

Blair hands her the coat. “Is he home, Dorota?”

Dorota nods. “Yes, Miss Blair.”

Blair hesitates. “How is he?”

“A good day, Miss Blair,” Dorota says quietly.

Something inside Blair relaxes, just slightly. A good day. She walks into the living room to find Chuck seated easily in an armchair, drink in hand, and kisses him hello.

* * *

Hours later, Blair is wrapping up a list of instructions to her minions. “…and make sure it’s the _crimson_. I don’t want another disaster like last time.” Kati looks down in shame. “Well, chop chop. I need to get ready for Serena’s party.”

Penelope smiles. “I just wanted to say… I think it’s very big of you.”

Blair raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, you know.” Penelope pauses. “How you’ve stayed friends with Serena after all these years. Even after Dan dumped you for her.”

Blair smiles tightly. “Dan didn’t _dump me_ for Serena, Penelope. I dumped _him_ for Chuck. And, newsflash, Dan Humphrey’s a total sociopath.”

Penelope clucks sympathetically. “And now you’ll have to see him all the time. At board meetings.”

Blair waves a hand at the minions dismissively. “That’s enough. I’ll see you tomorrow.” But as she dresses, she can’t help but feel increasingly irritated. Are there really people idiotic enough to believe _Dan Humphrey_ dumped her? And Penelope’s right – how will she be able to sit through a board meeting with Humphrey’s smug face staring back at her? None of this would be an issue if Serena hadn’t been deluded enough to marry her own stalker. To think, Blair had been almost excited to go to this party.

* * *

“Blair and Chuck! I’m so glad you guys came!” Serena smiles. “What are you two dressed as?”

Blair is wearing a soft, blue, high-necked dress, a matching wool coat, and sheer stockings. A delicate stream of what looks like blood runs down her chin. Chuck wears his customary suit.

“Isabelle Adjani in _Possession_,” Blair announces. She eyes the swath of cleavage under Serena’s blue choker. “I see you’re dressed as a Scooby skank. Sorry – snack. Scooby snack.”

Serena is determined not to let the night be ruined by Blair’s jabs. “We’re Scooby and Shaggy!” She smiles and grabs Dan’s arm, gesturing at their costumes. She’s wearing the choker, a skintight brown dress, and one perfect black dot on the tip of her nose. Dan’s wearing a green t-shirt.

“If you’re Isabelle, what does that make Chuck?” Dan asks, flushed with the courage of two pre-party whiskeys. “Sam Neill? The euro-boyfriend? Or the Lovecraftian tentacle monster?”

Chuck drags his gaze to Dan as if it pains him. “Costumes are for children, Humphrey.”

Blair ignores both of them and addresses Serena. “You know that doesn’t make _any_ sense, right? The Scooby gang is a group costume. And you’re obviously a Daphne. I would be the surprisingly sexually appealing Velma. Fred could be-”

“Nate!” Serena says excitedly, waving him over.

“Exactly! You’re getting it!” Blair responds. 

Nate saunters over. “Hey, the gang’s all here! Thanks for doing this, Serena. It’s been way too long since we all got together.” 

“Yes, isn’t it nice? Just like old times,” Serena beams.

“I need a drink,” Chuck mutters, heading for the nearest cater waiter.

Blair watches him go. For a moment there’s a hint of something in her eyes that Dan can’t quite interpret – worry? Anger? Exhaustion? Her gaze snaps to Dan’s and the expression is gone, replaced by visible annoyance. Dan pretends to examine the drink in his hand.

“_Scintillating_ as this discussion is, I should make the rounds,” Blair says with a toss of her hair. “There must be someone here worth talking to.”

“I guess I should be mingling too. Maggie, hi!” Serena says as she moves into the crowd, leaving Nate and Dan alone.

Nate smiles warmly. “It’s really great to see you, Dan.”

Dan can’t help but smile back. “Yeah, man. It’s nice to see you, too. So, how have things been?”

“Oh, you know. About the same. Still running the _Spectator _and dabbling in politics,” Nate says with a rueful smile.

Dan doesn’t want to bring up Nate’s failed mayoral bid. “No date tonight?” he asks, then mentally kicks himself; luckily, Nate seems unbothered.

“Yeah, man.” Nate shakes his head. “Ever since the whole Sage thing blew up my run for mayor, I’ve tried to be a little more discreet. No more dating coworkers. And definitely no more dating teenagers.”

“I guess it’s hard to argue with that logic,” Dan replies.

“I mean, it’s not like I got #MeToo-ed. Sage even put out a statement endorsing me. But I think the people who thought I was the right age to date a teenager suddenly realized I was the wrong age to run for mayor.”

“For what it’s worth, I voted for you,” Dan says.

Nate smiles. “Aw, man, really? Thanks. That means a lot.”

Dan hates the sick little thrill of happiness he gets hearing Nate say those words. Gossip Girl was a long time ago. After the whole Nelly Yuki incident, he and Serena agreed to move to Brooklyn and refocus on their relationship. Dan can’t remember the last time any of his former friends actually spoke to him.

Dan’s been hoping that, in time, he’ll find other people to care about. He goes to a weekly writer’s group. He belongs to a yoga studio. Once a year he spends a week at a no-technology digital detox meditation retreat. He tells himself that a lot of people have intense relationships in high school; they grow up, lose touch, get fat and bald. They stop caring about their high school friends. Dan _will_ stop caring about his high school friends, he’s sure of it. He just needs more time. 

* * *

The club is crowded. Eric can feel the press of bodies from all directions. He no longer knows where his date is; he can’t even remember the costume he was wearing. Each time the light strobes he examines the faces around him – devils, angels, everything in between. None of them familiar. Eric throws back the rest of his drink and gives himself over to the sway of the crowd.

* * *

“Thank you so much for coming! Your latest review was so insightful,” Serena beams at some critic from a venerable cultural institution. The critic stiffly inclines her head.

Blair marches up and interrupts. “Excuse me. Serena, I need to speak with you. _Now._”

“I’m sorry, if you’ll excuse me…” Serena murmurs.

The critic says, loudly, “Of course,” and begins to awkwardly shuffle away.

Blair feels a flash of irritation. She knows that restricting her social circle to people she was friends with in high school is absurd. But when she mingles at parties, she can’t help but notice the _strangeness _of strangers. They speak at weird volumes, their words come too quickly or slowly, they’re always announcing their names, even the expressions on their faces… at least with Blair’s old friends, there’s a smoothness. You never quite know what a stranger is going to say; but with the old gang, Blair often feels as if she can somehow sense the words before they leave her friends’ mouths.

“What is it, B?” Serena asks.

“As you may or may not know, I was recently elected to the NYPL’s board of trustees,” Blair announces, somewhat pompously.

“Congratulations!” Serena says. “What a coincidence – Dan was just elected to the board as well.”

“_Precisely_ the matter I wanted to discuss.” Blair’s not even bothering to fake a smile. “I want him off the board. Immediately.”

Serena shrugs. “Really, B? Don’t you think that’s a bit much? I had to work pretty hard to set this position up for Dan. I think a little charity work could be really good for him. Anyway, since when do you care about libraries? Aren’t books kind of Dan’s thing?”

Blair rolls her eyes. “Dan Humphrey couldn’t care less about _literacy_, Serena. Being on five major boards by the time I’m 30 is part of my 10-year plan. And just because I don’t read the trash your husband publishes doesn’t mean I don’t read.”

“Well, if being on the board is part of your _plan_, then you’ll just have to put up with Dan. Honestly, I don’t understand what the problem is.” Serena isn’t budging. “I know you guys aren’t friendly anymore, and I know Dan made mistakes in the past, but I thought that you forgave him, for my sake. Come on, B. You hosted our wedding!” 

“I hosted your wedding because you’re my best friend and I love you. And because your original idea was a _destination wedding_ on a _plantation_. Someone had to save you from yourself,” Blair snaps.

Serena shakes her head. “Enough. I have a party to host.” She storms away, nearly knocking Nate over as she passes by.

Nate approaches Blair, amused. “Yikes. Serena seemed pretty mad.”

Blair accepts the glass of punch Nate offers and sniffs it gingerly. “Ugh. Serena won’t take her horrible husband off the board of the New York Public Library, even now that she _knows_ I’ve claimed it.”

Nate seems puzzled. “I mean… aren’t books kind of Dan’s thing?”

“Why do people keep saying that?” Blair asks, incredulous. “Dan Humphrey doesn’t own the concept of ‘books’ just because he churned out a couple of tawdry tell-alls. They’re not even books, really, just evidence of mental instability. The lightly-fictionalized ramblings of a crazed stalker!” Blair pauses to take a calming breath. “Besides – being on boards is _my_ thing.”

Nate nods, accepting that logic. “Can’t you just ignore him?”

Blair raises her eyebrows incredulously. “Sometimes it feels like I’m the only person in the entire city of New York who remembers that Dan Humphrey systematically cyber-stalked and psychologically tormented all of us. For years!”

Nate shrugs. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, Blair. I mean, I run the _Spectator_. We publish gossip blogs, but that doesn’t mean you’ve stopped being friends with me.”

“That’s completely different,” Blair replies.

“Is it because… you know.” Nate hesitates. “You guys dated?”

“_No_,” Blair hisses. “I know years of cannabis abuse has taken its toll on your mental capacity, Archibald, but you and I dated too. And as you point out, we’re still friends. Although if you’d like to _stay _friends, I’d suggest never bringing up that unfortunate dalliance again.”

Nate shakes his head. “It’s been a long time, Blair. Shouldn’t you try to forgive and forget? For Serena’s sake?”

Blair rolls her eyes. “I’d be _happy_ to forget Humphrey, if he would just stay out of my way.” She pauses for a moment, growing serious. “But I’ll never forgive him.”

Nate can sense it’s time to change the subject. “Well, I guess it’s up to you. Should we go find Chuck? He was hitting the liquor cabinet pretty hard when I left him.”

Blair and Nate share a look of mingled anxiety and resignation, then wander away in search of Chuck. Dan waits another few seconds before emerging from the doorway. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop – not really. He was grabbing some spare napkins from the linen closet, and when he heard Serena and Blair say his name… well, anyone would be curious. Mechanically, he brings the napkins to the kitchen. _I’ll never forgive him_. Over the years, he’s become accustomed to Blair’s avoidance, but it’s different to hear those words out loud. _Never_. Never is a long time.

* * *

Blair and Chuck are safely ensconced in their limo. “Thank god that’s over,” Blair sighs.

“Indeed,” Chuck drawls, taking another sip from his tumbler.

Blair slowly begins to unbutton her coat. “Still,” she says. “Seeing everyone… it does bring back memories of those days.” She inches closer to Chuck, sliding the coat loose to reveal her shoulders. “Being in the limo together brings back memories, too.”

“Blair.” Chuck winces and draws back.

Blair shrugs her coat back up and lays a hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” she says, but before she can say anything else, he’s crying.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Blair brings his head to rest on her lap. “It’s okay, Chuck. It’s going to be okay.”

* * *

As Nate walks into his lobby, the doorman stops him. “Hey, Mr. Archibald. Someone left an envelope for you.”

Nate is surprised; he gets his mail sent to his office at the _Spectator_ building. He examines the envelope on his way up in the elevator. It’s a flat manila envelope, addressed only to “Nate Archibald” – no street address, no postage.

Once he’s in his apartment, he slides the contents out onto the kitchen counter. Photographs – lots. And a single slip of paper, with a message: _NOTHING STAYS BURIED FOREVER._


	3. The Good, the Bad, and the Okay

Vanessa arrives at the _Spectator_ offices early, and she’s surprised to see the light on in Nate’s office. She gives a gentle knock on the open door and steps in. 

“Hey, Nate.” Her smile slowly fades as she sees the disarray of Nate’s desk. Nate looks up at her, his expression unusually somber. “Wow, what’s all this?” Vanessa asks hesitantly.

Vanessa steps closer and picks up one of the photographs. It’s Nate, in a compromising position. With a woman who, as Vanessa looks closer, seems vaguely familiar. “Oh my god, Nate. Is that…?”

Nate nods. “The Duchess.”

The hazy details start coming back to Vanessa. “The one who…,” Vanessa pauses with a wince.

“Paid me for sex, yeah.” Nate’s voice is firm.

Vanessa picks up one of the photographs. “These certainly are… explicit.”

Nate looks at the pile. “Someone delivered an envelope full of these to my apartment. They’re threatening to go public, but they didn’t even say what they want – just that I’m going to be exposed. Soon.”

Vanessa hesitates. “I don’t want to downplay the objective horribleness of the situation,” she says. “But isn’t this kind of… old news?”

Nate shakes his head. “It’s old news to us, sure, and people who went to high school with me, maybe. But I’m trying to establish a serious adult career, Vanessa. I just ran for mayor! And part of the reason I lost the primary is because of one of my relationships. I was hoping to eventually move past the Sage thing, but when people find out about this… I’m going to be just another weird sex guy.” Nate shakes his head sadly. “Nobody wants to vote for the weird sex guy.”

Vanessa can’t help but see his point.

“It doesn’t help that I haven’t been in a real relationship in years,” Nate continues. “If I could just convince people that I’m in a normal, age-appropriate relationship…”

Nate trails off and looks at Vanessa. There’s a sense of dawning realization in his voice as he continues. “If I could just convince people I’m in a normal relationship, maybe I could ride out all the negative publicity.”

Vanessa shrugs. “Maybe. You could try to spin it as youthful indiscretion, you’re more mature now...”

Nate raises an eyebrow. “You’re not seeing anyone right now, are you, Vanessa?”

Vanessa experiences a moment of panic – _What has he heard?_ – before reminding herself that Nate couldn’t possibly know anything about her romantic life, because there’s nothing to know. “No,” she replies firmly, before realizing what Nate’s getting at. “Wait a second, Nate–“

But it’s too late. Nate is looking at her with pleading eyes. “Please, Vanessa. It would only be for a couple of months. It’s just – you’re perfect. The right age, gorgeous, gainfully employed… a totally normal person for me to be dating. All you have to do is come to a few parties with me, and let me put out the word that we’re dating.”

Vanessa shakes her head. “Come on, Nate. A fake girlfriend? I thought the whole point is that you’re maturing beyond high school hijinks.”

“_Please_, Vanessa,” Nate says beseechingly. “This is my whole career, my whole _life_ we’re talking about.”

Vanessa hesitates. It’s only a few parties, after all. Plus, working for the _Spectator_ pays her rent. “If you really think it would help…” she says slowly.

“Yes!” Nate smiles, then breathes a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank you, Vanessa. I promise – you’ll barely even notice being my fake girlfriend.”

* * *

Jenny bustles into the coffeeshop, running late to meet Dan. She’s almost always frantically busy these days, but she tries to carve out one morning a week for breakfast with her brother.

“Sorry I’m so late!” Jenny says breathlessly as she drops into a chair and smiles at Dan.

“No worries,” says Dan. “I was just getting some writing done.” There’s a notebook on the table in front of him, but it’s closed. There’s no pen in sight. Jenny raises an eyebrow, but bites back a comment - Dan’s writing has become a sensitive topic recently, and she doesn’t want to risk the friendly equilibrium that has developed between them.

“I just couldn’t get out of bed this morning – Francesca _finally_ broke up with her terrible girlfriend and I was up till two feeding her ice cream and telling her she was better off single,” Jenny laughs, shaking her head. Jenny usually does most of the talking at these breakfasts. Dan hears stories about Jenny’s friends, Jenny’s friends’ friends, Jenny’s friends’ friends’ dogs’ Instagram accounts – anything, really, to avoid talking about the people they know and the past they share.

“Yikes. Well, she’ll bounce back,” Dan says. Before Jenny can launch into another story, he continues. “How’s work?”

Jenny is taken aback. Sure, she talks about her work sometimes – mostly complaining about general fashion trends or problems with suppliers. But Dan almost never asks about it.

“Um. Pretty good? Busy, but it’s always busy,” Jenny says.

Dan pauses for a moment. “Blair’s not working you too hard?” he asks slowly, eyes fixed on the rim of his coffee cup.

Now Jenny is genuinely freaked out. “Excuse me?” she asks. Maybe she misheard? Maybe she’s still dreaming?

Dan looks up into Jenny’s startled face. “What?” he asks, defensively.

“Dan. Seriously?” Jenny is incredulous. “We’ve been getting breakfast together almost every week for… three years? And you’ve never asked about Blair before. You flinch when I say her name!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dan says. “What is she, Voldemort? I don’t flinch. We talk about… her… all the time.”

Jenny waits until Dan is taking a nervous sip of coffee, then leans forward across the table. “Blair Waldorf,” she says, loudly and deliberately.

Dan jumps back in his seat, a few droplets of coffee running down onto his v-neck. “Jesus, Jenny, what the fuck? I – that wasn’t a _flinch_, okay? That was just a… a normal human reaction to being screamed at.” Dan is patting himself dry with a napkin and furtively glancing around the room, as if Jenny’s words might have somehow summoned Blair. “It’s just – I mean, she was at my house, okay?”

“_What_?” Jenny is even more convinced that this must be a dream.

Dan lets out a long exhale. “Okay. I’m going to start over and we’ll attempt to be at least 75% less weird about this.” Jenny takes an expectant sip of coffee. “You know Serena threw a Halloween party, right? Well, Nate and Chuck and Blair actually showed up. And it turns out Blair’s on the library board thing Serena set up for me. I just thought… maybe… there could be a, I don’t know, a cessation of hostilities. That maybe things were finally… thawing.”

Jenny feels a pang of sympathy for her brother. Despite all the mistakes, the missteps, the various shitty things she’s done, Jenny has mostly gotten exactly what she wanted from life. When she and Dan were teenagers in the loft, filled to the brim with longing, she was dreaming of a job, friends, power in the fashion world – all the things she now has. She wonders if Dan has ever known what he really wanted.

“I’m sorry, Dan,” Jenny says. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t really talk about you with Blair, either.”

Dan shakes his head. “Yeah, that makes sense. Sorry, I know this is stupid. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I don’t even know why I was imagining things were getting better – Blair still seemed as pissed off as ever at the party.”

Jenny decides to throw caution to the wind. “Honestly, Dan? Whether or not Blair’s still mad – why would you even want to try to be friends now? Kind of seems like the whole ‘not speaking for years’ thing is pretty final.”

Dan shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t want to be _friends_. Necessarily. I guess I just still want… I don’t know, forgiveness? Redemption? Is that an unbearably corny thing to say?”

“Yes, it is,” Jenny says. “But I get it.”

They finish their coffee quietly. After Jenny leaves for work, Dan stays at the table, lost in thought. He told Jenny he was going to hang out and write, but he could tell Jenny didn’t believe him. He’s not sure she believed him about the redemption stuff, either. He’s not sure he believes it himself. Does he really care if Blair forgives him? Or does he just feel the need to prove something to her – that he’s a good person, that he’s happy with Serena, that everything he did was worth it?

Dan is standing up to grab another drink when he notices that there’s one black leather glove on the seat Jenny was in – she must have left it behind. Dan picks up the glove and decides to return it right now. After all, the glove is probably expensive. The atelier isn’t far, and so what if the name Waldorf is on the door? Dan tells himself that he’s not afraid of a name.

It’s a brisk few blocks to the atelier. Dan walks towards the doorway, holding Jenny’s glove out in front of him like a talisman. But as he approaches, a sleek black town car pulls up to the curb, and Dan has to resist an urge to turn around and run. Of course Blair would choose exactly this moment to arrive. Dan barely has time to wonder whether he’s feeling hope or dread – Blair’s already out of the car and striding towards him.

“Hi, Blair,” Dan says.

He’s sure she sees him. For a split second, their eyes meet – and then she’s walking past, totally ignoring him.

“Blair. _Blair_,” Dan says, louder this time. She’s already walking through the door. “Seriously, Blair?” he shouts at her retreating back.

A woman walking past edges away from him. “I know her,” he insists, turning to the woman, who gives him a nervous look and an even wider berth.

* * *

Chuck’s in his office. His army of assistants and executives handle most of the day-to-day management of his empire, so he often finds himself in this position: sitting in his office with not much to do but think. And remember. His father’s face, his father’s pleas, his father’s hands, grasping, clawing, falling…

Chuck takes another sip from his glass and closes his eyes. 

* * *

Dan realizes Jenny must have taken pity on him when he gets her message. _not sure if this helps, but B did mention the nypl thing. said she’s going to be on the executive commitee??_ He’s reading it as he walks in the front door, and he’s surprised to look up and see Serena already home.

“Hello there,” he says, approaching to give her a perfunctory kiss.

“Hi,” Serena replies, barely looking up from the script she’s reading.

Dan takes off his coat, sits down on the other end of the couch, and quickly starts searching, his phone screen angled away from Serena. He finds a series of press releases – it looks like one of the more elderly members of the executive committee is stepping down; the replacement will be appointed by the head of the committee. There’s a headshot of a smiling bearded man next to the name Richard Lexington.

“Hey,” Dan says, breaking the silence. “What’s the name of that guy you know, who got me on the board? The library thing?”

Serena looks up slowly. “Oh, you mean Richard? He’s an old friend of my mom’s. At least, that’s what she said. I did see them together at the summer Conservatory Ball and there was a weird amount of physical contact going on…”

“I wonder if I could meet up with him,” Dan says slowly. “Get some pointers. I really do want to take this position seriously.”

“Well, he’s throwing himself a birthday party,” Serena says, picking up her phone. “I think it’s on Friday. Didn’t you see the invite?”

“Maybe I should go,” Dan says, trying to sound nonchalant. He’d almost forgotten what it’s like; the way convenient parties seem to fall into place when you’re working a scheme. As soon as that thought appears, he banishes it. He is _not _working a scheme, he’s simply going to a party.

Serena smiles at him. “I think that’s a great idea. We’ll both go!”

“Great,” Dan says, smiling back and trying not to let the resentment show on his face. Years later, and Serena still doesn’t trust him to go to a party on his own.

They settle back into their customary silence. Dan sends Jenny a quick text (_thanks_), then hesitates. Serena hasn’t looked at his phone in a while, and there’s nothing really incriminating about what Jenny said. Still, better safe than sorry. He deletes both messages.

* * *

Eric walks into his apartment and tosses his keys in the bowl. He sorts though his mail, mostly bills and museum advertisements. Should he bring red or white to Zainab’s dinner party tonight?

* * *

The house is large, tasteful, and full of people in evening dress. Serena and Dan make their way through the throng, stopping every few moments for greetings and air kisses. Dan leaves Serena chatting away with some Guggenheim curator and sets off to grab another flute of champagne. Not that he needs the buzz – it feels good to be here, in the glittering crowd, with a purpose. Just as Dan is taking a glass from a passing waiter, he spots the party’s host.

“Richard! Great party,” Dan smiles.

“Dan!” Richard booms. “Wonderful to see you. And I’m so happy you’ve agreed to join us on the library board!”

“Yes,” Dan says, nodding earnestly. “Libraries are such a vital public resource – I’m just so interested in the work.”

There’s a silken rustle and a flash of beading in the corner of Dan’s eye. He can smell her before he even turns his head.

“Congratulations, Richard. You’ve performed a miracle – imagine, Dan Humphrey working,” Blair says sweetly.

“Blair.” Dan greets her in a measured tone. She leans forward to pretend to hug him, and Dan notices she’s careful to hold her body as far away from his as possible.

“Another of our new board members! Excellent, excellent,” Richard chuckles. “I look forward to talking books with you, Dan! I know you’re a literary man yourself.”

“Of course,” Dan smiles. “I just finished _The Topeka School_ – Ben Lerner really is one of the best writers of our day.”

“Ah,” Blair interjects. “Autofiction written by a white man – I see your literary tastes are as broad as ever. Personally, I enjoyed Sally Rooney’s second book – the pressure on young writers can be so intense, and she obviously didn’t let all the glowing press affect her writing. Or go to her head. Such a shame when promising writers flame out and stop working.”

Dan narrows his eyes but resolves to stay polite. “We’re lucky, there are so many great young writers publishing right now. I thought Jia Tolentino’s essays in _Trick Mirror _were really insightful.”

“Oh, but you have to say that!” Blair laughs. “I mean, the two of you are practically coworkers, since the _New Yorker_ used to publish your stories!”

Dan is struggling not to let that “used to” get under his skin. _Stay calm_, he tells himself, but he can feel a tide of anger rising.

Their host is smiling vaguely. “Well!” he says, a little bemused. He spots someone across the room and waves. “I’ll see you both at the next board meeting!”

The moment he steps away, Blair begins to flounce off; Dan sidesteps to stay within her line of sight.

“It’s funny,” Dan says. “When we ran into each other the other day, you acted like you’d never seen me before in your life. But now that I have something you want, you know who I am.”

Blair rolls her eyes, determinedly refusing to look directly at Dan. “Don’t be ridiculous, Humphrey. Yes, sadly, I know who you are. Most of the time I’m able to forget that unfortunate fact, and yet you _insist_ on popping up to remind me.” Blair pauses to wave at someone across the room, then continues through gritted teeth. “But there’s nothing you have that I could possibly want.”

“Oh?” Dan asks. “Not even the appointment to the executive committee?”

“No,” Blair replies primly. “Because you don’t have that. I do.”

Dan smiles. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Richard and I were getting along swimmingly before you showed up.”

“The concepts of ‘Humphrey’ and ‘executive’ are so diametrically opposed that even placing those two words together in this sentence is probably going to cause some kind of space-time vortex of impossibility,” Blair says. “Richard is being polite because you’re Mr. Serena van der Woodsen. He’s not idiotic enough to actually appoint you.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Dan says. “Richard was telling me what a fan he is of my work, and how important it is to have a committee member who understands the publishing industry from the inside. But maybe they’ll decide a power-hungry socialite with a teen fashion line is a more valuable asset to the committee. Who knows!”

Blair laughs. “You know, maybe you’re right. You’d certainly have more time to devote to the position, since you’ve got literally nothing else going on in your life. Let’s just hope the stench of lonely, has-been loser doesn’t turn the committee off. Best of luck!”

Blair shoulders past him, nearly knocking him off balance, and Dan is left alone. He resists the urge to self-consciously sniff his jacket, then makes his way down the hall, fuming. Lonely? Has-been loser? He’s drafting up comebacks in his head as he finds the bathroom and steps inside, locking the door. His own face in the mirror shocks him – there’s color in his cheeks, a glitter in his eye, and a faint smile playing around the corners of his mouth. He looks like he’s enjoying this. Whatever _this_ is – parties? Verbal sparring? Being an asshole? Christ. What is he even doing? The fluttery, excited feeling inside him is fading. He told Jenny he wanted to make amends, but here he is, picking a useless fight over some position he doesn’t care about. One little push from Blair, and he’s right back where he started, bitter and vindictive and cruel. A rush of shame washes over Dan. He doesn’t want to have lied to Jenny, or to himself. He should find Blair and apologize.

Blair snags a new glass of champagne and smiles smugly to herself. She’s been trying to turn over a new leaf in recent years – the new and improved, nicer Blair. She has a series of breathing exercises to perform when she feels the urge to scream at an underling. But, after all, what is life without a few bugs to crush under her heel? She almost wishes Humphrey would return for round two – there’s a lot of insult material she hasn’t used yet. She’s turning the phrase “hypocritical house-husband” over in her mind when she gets the text from Dorota: _S.O.S._

Filled with a heavy, sinking sensation, Blair sets her champagne flute down on a passing platter and heads to the coat room. She should have known, she thinks numbly. It was stupid to come here tonight, to leave him alone, to think she could spend a few hours worrying about nothing more serious than charity positions and silly insults. Holding her coat, Blair heads to the front door in a daze.

Dan sees Blair in the foyer, about to leave, and presses through the crowd to intercept her. “Blair!” Dan says, but she doesn’t turn. Without thinking, he reaches out to grasp her arm. “Blair, wait –“

Blair spins around, and Dan pauses, surprised. The wicked little smile from earlier is gone – it almost looks as if she’s holding back tears.

“Get your hands off me,” Blair says, not bothering to lower her voice.

Dan realizes he’s still holding Blair’s elbow and drops it quickly. “Blair, I didn’t mean – I just –“

“I don’t care,” Blair snaps. “Was something about six years of utter silence somehow ambiguous to you? Let me make it clear. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to speak to you. Just leave me the hell alone.”

Blair turns and walks through the door, leaving Dan speechless. She fights the urge to cry as she gets into the car and the ride home begins. She made a decision, she made vows, and these are the consequences. When she walks into the house, it’s ominously quiet. Dorota is in the kitchen; she points wordlessly towards Chuck’s study. When Blair enters, Chuck is sitting on the floor, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, surrounded by shattered glass and loose papers. He looks up blearily as she enters. “Blair,” he slurs.

“It’s okay,” Blair replies, picking her way cautiously through the shards of broken glass. “I’m here.”

* * *

Nate and Vanessa are getting coffee near the _Spectator_ offices. The place is popular among _Spectator _staff, and Nate and Vanessa need to be seen together; as they wait for their coffees, Nate leans in close to brush a lock of hair behind Vanessa’s ear.

“Exactly how much longer do we have to do this?” Vanessa asks quietly, a fake smile pasted on her face.

Nate pretends to pout. “Is it really so awful? You’re hurting my feelings, Vanessa,” he says. He steps closer to her and lowers his voice, growing serious. “There’s been no further contact from the blackmailer, and I haven’t been able to dig up any leads. No fingerprints on the envelope or the photographs. Trust me, I wish I had a timeline just as much as you do.”

By this time, the coffees are ready; Nate and Vanessa grab them and leave, with Nate being sure to conspicuously take Vanessa’s hand as they exit – walking out the door and straight into Serena’s path.

“Nate!” Serena says happily. “What a coincidence! How are you? And…” Serena turns, and her face drops as she recognizes Vanessa. “And Vanessa.”

Serena’s eyes drop to their clasped hands. “Oh my god, Nate, seriously? You’re… together?”

Nate hesitates, a look of obvious panic on his face. He makes his decision. “Um. Yeah. We are.”

“Wow, Nate.” Serena purses her lips and gives him her best disappointed glare. “I thought we were friends. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Serena.” Nate says. “I promise, I can explain. Just… not here,” he adds, glancing around nervously. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“You know what? Don’t bother,” Serena snaps. With a toss of her long, tousled braid, she storms off down the sidewalk.

“Yikes,” Vanessa says quietly. She knows that, objectively, Serena’s reasons for hating her are pretty valid, but it brings her a small thrill of joy to see Serena so annoyed. Maybe this fake relationship wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

* * *

Dan enters the meeting room with a feeling of dread. The only reason he’s here is because he couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse to give Serena. He spots Blair on the other side of the room and picks a seat as far away from her as possible. Most of the meeting passes in a miserable daze, until he realizes Richard is announcing the new member of the executive committee.

“Join us in welcoming our newest member of the executive committee: Carolyn Abernathy!”

A round of applause sweeps the room as a well-coiffed woman stands and waves. Dan can’t help but look over to see how Blair’s taking it – but she’s no longer in her seat. Dan glances toward the back of the room and sees Blair gently opening a balcony door and slipping outside. _She probably needs some space_, Dan thinks as he rises from his chair. _She made her feelings about me pretty clear_, but his feet are carrying him towards the balcony door. _This is a colossally stupid idea_, but by the time he’s had that thought, the handle has turned and he’s stepping outside.

Blair is leaning on the balcony railing, looking out at the skyline. Dan stands silently for a moment, then steps forward to lean against the railing next to her. “Hey,” he says cautiously.

Blair searches for the anger she felt at their last meeting, but it’s gone. She feels tired, more than anything. There’s an agonizingly long moment of silence. Dan has time to regret coming out here, regret showing up to the meeting, regret being born– but then, Blair gives a little sigh.

“Hey,” she says quietly, and the rush of relief Dan feels is overwhelming.

“Are you okay?” he ventures.

Blair doesn’t respond.

“I know you wanted the committee position, and I just wanted you to know, I didn’t really want to stand in your way, even if it might have come off like that at the party,” Dan babbles, before lapsing into silence once again.

“Richard told me you recommended me for the position,” Blair says slowly.

Dan is grateful that the balcony is dark enough to hide his flush. “Oh, he… mentioned that to you?”

“He did. When he was offering me the job,” Blair says, but her voice lacks the edge of triumph Dan would have expected.

“He offered you the spot?” Dan says. “Then why is there a very well-preserved woman in pearls out there getting a round of applause?”

“I turned it down,” Blair says.

Dan doesn’t say anything, but he must be thinking “_Why?”_ loud enough for Blair to hear him, because she responds.

“I know it’s been years,” she says, “but I would have thought you’d still be able to recognize a classic Blair Waldorf behavioral spiral when you see one. I was fixating on the meaningless committee position because it felt easier than dealing with the actual issues in my life. Just like you’re in a classic Humphrey behavioral pattern of seeking out negative attention because it feels less emotionally vulnerable than admitting you’re lonely.”

Dan winces. “I guess some things never change,” he says.

“Please. Give me a little credit,” Blair scoffs. “At least I managed to stop myself before I got to the point of an embarrassingly public attempt at revenge.” She lets out a short laugh. “Or did you think I was out here whipping up a Nairtini for Carolyn Abernathy?”

“A Nairtini? No way,” Dan replies. “Too public. I have to assume your revenge techniques are far more sophisticated now.”

Blair laughs again. “Apparently not sophisticated enough, since you’re still walking the face of the earth.”

“Through no fault of yours,” Dan reassures her.

“The silent treatment is working?” Blair says, turning to him.

“Very effective. And painful,” Dan says, hoping his joking tone will obscure the truth of the statement.

Blair scans his face for a moment, then nods. “Good,” she says, turning back to the skyline.

The balcony is quiet for a long moment. Dan knows there are a million things he should be apologizing for right now, but he’s not sure how to begin. The words he can’t get out of his head are ones he doesn’t think he should say. _I miss you_.

“I used to think growing up would make things easier,” Blair says.

“Yeah,” says Dan. “Me too. Another item in the very long list of things I’ve been wrong about.”

Blair sighs. “I suppose we should get back in there.”

Dan nods. “Yeah, I guess we should.”

Blair steps toward the door, but pauses to turn in Dan’s direction. “Thanks,” she says quietly.

Dan knows he shouldn’t question a good thing, but he can’t help himself. “For what?” he asks, puzzled.

“For asking if I’m okay,” Blair says. Then she steps through the doorway and disappears into the brightness of the room beyond.

* * *

Serena lets herself into the quiet house. Dan’s out at some meeting, and Serena is a little relieved at the thought of an evening without his mopey presence. She’s considering treating herself to a bubble bath as she picks up the mail left neatly stacked on a side table by the front door. A large manila envelope at the bottom of the pile draws her attention. Her name is written on it, in large block letters – no address.

Serena carries it into the living room; it might be a message from the studio about the new script. But when Serena opens the envelope and slides out the contents, it’s not a script. It’s a single photograph, and a note: _I KNOW. AND SOON EVERYONE ELSE WILL, TOO._


	4. The Turkey Vanishes

“One! Two! Get those legs higher!” barks a tiny woman in spandex and sunglasses.

The studio is simple to the point of austerity, filled with sunlight and beautiful people who are sweating profusely. Blair and Serena have been coming to this class for months. Initially, Blair thought it might be difficult to convince Serena to attend (_“It’s New York’s most elite barre class, S! Drusilka trained with Lotte Berk herself!”_), but Serena gave in to Blair’s pleading without much of a fight. Even Serena van der Woodsen can’t rely on genetics forever.

Ordinarily, Blair and Serena do their best to keep pace with the barely legal models and iron-willed middle-aged exercise fanatics, but Serena is struggling today. Her usual effortlessly cool workout ensemble is verging on genuinely mismatched, and at Drusilka’s command of “right arms up!” Serena raises her left, smacking Blair in the face.

“Seriously, S, what’s with you today?” Blair whispers, rearranging her headband.

“Just… distracted, I guess,” Serena mutters back.

“If you have breath to talk, you’re not working hard enough!” shouts Drusilka, startling Blair and Serena into silence.

They spend the next thirty minutes meekly following commands; it’s not until class is over that they have the chance to catch their breaths and chat. “Is everything okay?” Blair asks, grabbing her shoes from the reclaimed barnwood cubby.

Serena smiles. “I guess I’m just exhausted from all the Thanksgiving prep. Are you ready for the big day?”

“Please. I was born ready,” Blair scoffs. “But there’s really not much to prepare this year,” she adds, her smile faltering for a moment. “Eleanor and Cyrus are visiting Aaron in LA, and I told Daddy it wasn’t worth coming all the way from France when he was just in New York last month.”

“Aw, really, B? But you love a big Thanksgiving!” Serena says.

“Well, it would be hard to top last year’s twelve-course dinner for 30. I’m looking forward to a quiet, intimate day,” Blair says, almost plausibly.

Serena sighs. “I wouldn’t mind a quiet, intimate day myself.”

Blair raises an eyebrow. “Regretting your decision to stage holiday bonding time with the Humphreys?”

Serena grimaces. “Of course not! I guess I just didn’t consider how much work it would be to host.”

“How much work can it possibly be to host two people? Didn’t you hire caterers?” Blair asks with a skeptical look.

Serena nods, glancing at her phone. “Yes, I did. And it looks like they left a message while we were in class – I better call them back.”

Blair smiles. “I suppose it’s time for me to go home and supervise the kitchen. Let me know if you need me to yell at any underlings for you.”

“I’ll do that,” Serena laughs. “Happy Thanksgiving, B.”

“Happy Thanksgiving!” Blair says, as Serena turns to depart the studio. “Um, S?”

Serena turns around. Blair is holding Serena’s iPhone in her outstretched hand. “You probably want to take your phone with you if you’re going to call the caterers.”

* * *

“I promise, it’ll be over before you know it,” Nate says. He’s standing on the spacious sidewalk in front of the Bass townhouse with a very nervous-looking Vanessa.

“Is this really necessary, though?” Vanessa asks, throwing a frightened glance over her shoulder. “Who really cares if we spend Thanksgiving together?”

“I can’t leave my girlfriend alone on Thanksgiving!” Nate replies, shaking his head.

“Okay, fine. Spending Thanksgiving together is one thing. But why does this togetherness need to involve Chuck and Blair?” Vanessa says, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“I’ve been doing Thanksgiving with Chuck and Blair for years now,” Nate says. “It’s a tradition. All we have to do it get in, eat some food, get some candids for Instagram, and we’ll be out of there in no time. Besides, we’ve all done a lot of growing up since you knew each other. I’m sure they can manage to be civil for one meal. I’m just going to go in, explain the situation-”

“And what, pray tell, is _the situation_?” Nate and Vanessa turn to see Blair standing on the sidewalk behind them. Before they can answer, she waves a hand dismissively. “Well, whatever it is, you can tell me inside. I can’t risk any sweat sinking into my Lanvin.”

Blair hurries into the house, shrugging off her wool coat and handing it over to Dorota. Nate and Vanessa trail Blair into the house, although Vanessa seems reluctant to enter.

“It’ll be fine,” Nate whispers with a reassuring smile.

* * *

Jenny is clattering up the steps to Dan and Serena’s house, clutching a large bowl of mashed potatoes. She knocks, but there’s no answer; shrugging, Jenny lets herself in. “Hey!” she calls out. “Dan? Serena? Hello?”

As Jenny begins to make her way to the kitchen, she can hear raised voices. Serena is pacing back and forth, clutching her phone to her ear; Dan is watching her anxiously. The room is full of trays of food, and an overpowering aroma of roasted brussels sprouts.

“And there’s really nothing you can do?” Serena says into the phone. She sighs, bringing a hand to her temple. “Well I guess I’ll have to take no for an answer, if you’re not going to work with me.” She hangs up the phone and shakes her head. “They claim there’s nothing they can do.”

“Seriously? They don’t have a turkey to spare? Not a single sweet potato lying around?” Dan looks around the room. “What are we going to do?”

“Um. Hi, guys,” Jenny interjects, waving around the bowl of potatoes. “What’s going on?”

Dan and Serena share a pained look. “There’s been a… catering snafu. It looks like, somehow, instead of a full Thanksgiving meal, we ended up with 25 trays of…” Dan pauses to pick up a menu. “…feta, hazelnut, and pomegranate seed brussels sprouts,” he reads off.

“This is all my fault,” Serena says. “I’m so sorry, Dan.”

“We’ll figure something out,” he replies. “I’m not sure what, but there’s got to be something we can do.”

Jenny looks thoughtful. “Actually… I might have an idea,” she says slowly. “Give me half an hour.”

* * *

Blair descends the staircase, then takes an armchair across from Nate and Vanessa. “Well. Now that I’m refreshed in mind, body, and outfit, let’s hear it.”

“It took you long enough,” Vanessa mutters, but Blair pointedly ignores her and continues to look expectantly at Nate.

Chuck finishes preparing his drink and turns to face the rest of the room. “I assume there’s an explanation for the presence of your… companion?”

“Vanessa is here because I invited her,” Nate says. “I wanted to spend the day with her, because… we’ve been seeing each other.”

Blair makes a face of distaste. “Really, Nate? What is this, 2008?”

“I know you and Vanessa haven’t always been on the best of terms, but I was hoping that we’re all mature enough now to enjoy a simple meal together. Without insults,” Nate says, giving both Vanessa and Blair a meaningful glance. “But I understand if adding an extra Thanksgiving guest at the last minute isn’t possible,” he adds, calculatingly. “You might not be prepared.”

Blair narrows her eyes. “Of course I’m prepared for unexpected guests, Nate. Expecting an unexpected guest is one of the cardinal elements of successful Thanksgiving strategy.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” comes a voice from the foyer. Nate, Vanessa, Chuck, and Blair all turn to watch as Dorota ushers Jenny Humphrey into the room. “Because I’m hoping you have room for a few more unexpected guests.”

Chuck raises an eyebrow, amused. “You can’t be serious,” he mutters.

“Jenny?” Blair asks, surprised. “Aren’t you supposed to be at Serena’s?”

Jenny shakes her head. “Something went wrong with the catering order – all they delivered was brussels sprouts. It’s way too late to get food from anywhere else… so I thought maybe we could combine our Thanksgivings. We bring the brussels sprouts, you bring the… well, everything else?” Jenny says, hopefully.

“If the Humphreys are coming, Vanessa should definitely be allowed to stay,” Nate chimes in.

“If the Humphreys are coming, I think I should definitely _go_,” Vanessa replies.

Jenny ignores them both and turns to Blair, beseechingly. “Please, Blair. Serena is your best friend, and I’m your best designer! And you’ll barely even notice that Dan and my dad are here.”

Jenny, Nate, and Vanessa fall into expectant silence as Blair surveys the room, pensive. At last, she nods slowly. “I suppose it is my duty as Serena’s best friend to help salvage what remains of her Thanksgiving. But if I’m going to pull this off, I need full obedience.”

“Of course!” Jenny agrees, just as Vanessa replies, “Absolutely not.”

Blair ignores them both and pulls out a walkie talkie. “Dorota, this is a code red. I repeat, code red. Deploy the emergency turkey.”

* * *

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Dan asks for the third time, as he and Serena walk towards the door.

“I’m pretty sure it’s _not_ a good idea,” Rufus mutters as he unloads another foil container of brussels sprouts from the trunk of the town car.

“It’s going to be fine,” Serena says hopefully. “Let’s just be grateful to Blair and Chuck for inviting us into their home.”

Dorota answers the door, taking the foil tray from Dan and the bowl of berries that Serena offers. “Everyone is waiting in the dining room,” she says, carrying the food off to the kitchen. Rufus follows, staggering under the weight of another two trays. “I sure hope everyone likes brussels sprouts!” he says with forced cheeriness.

Dan and Serena make their way to the dining room, where Blair is carefully setting out name-cards; the rest of the guests seem to be drinking heavily.

“Dan! And Serena. You’re here!” Jenny approaches, smiling. “I’m glad you guys agreed to come.”

“Well, I do have to admire the sheer audacity of the idea, I’ll give you that,” Dan replies. He glances around the room, then does a double take. “Is that Vanessa?”

Jenny nods. “She’s here with Nate. How weird is that?”

Serena frowns. “I actually ran into them the other day, and according to Nate, they’re dating now.” She sighs. “We should say hello to Blair.”

Dan hangs back as Serena sets off across the room. “Seriously, Jenny, what were you thinking? This is crazy,” he whispers.

Jenny shrugs and grins. “I thought you wanted the chance to be friends with the old gang again,” she says. “I was just trying to help. Plus, an all brussels sprout dinner sounded pretty depressing.”

Dan shakes his head and makes his way towards the table.

“Blair. Thank you so much for having us,” he says stiffly, stepping next to Serena.

“Well, you know me,” Blair says, adjusting a wineglass. “Generous to a fault.” Dan turns a small laugh into a cough, and Blair shoots a glare in his direction.

“Seriously, B, thank you,” Serena says. “I really appreciate you having us here. I’m looking forward to a normal dinner. And pie!”

“Assuming we all survive until dessert,” Dan mutters darkly.

“There are magnifying glasses under every chair, in the not-unlikely event of a murder,” Blair replies. “I did my best to create a seating chart that would diffuse the inevitable tension. In an ideal world, of course, every guest would be able to sit next to someone who isn’t one of their former sex partners and/or mortal enemies, but I did the best I could with what I had to work with.”

“I think Emily Post herself would be struggling with this crowd,” Dan replies. He picks up the nearest name card. “Vanya?”

Blair nods. “I’ve placed Vanya and Dorota in the middle of the table, as a sort of emotional damper. An Iron Curtain, if you will.”

Dorota enters the room, carrying an enormous silver platter. She places it on the table, then nods to Blair, who gives a little clap of her hands. “Time to take your seats!” Blair calls, heading to her position the end of the table.

Slowly, the guests find their places. Vanya and Dorota throw each other a panicked glance across the table. Once everyone is seated, Chuck rises to stand and lifts a wineglass. “Friends, family, Dan,” he says, “I’d like to thank all of you for joining us here today. And most of all, I’d like to thank my beautiful wife, Blair, for making this meal possible. To Thanksgiving, and to our hostess.” He tips his wineglass to Blair, and the rest of the group follows suit. “Now, let’s enjoy our meal. I hear the brussels sprouts are plentiful,” Chuck says, sitting.

“I have to say, Vanessa, I’m a little surprised to see you here,” Rufus says.

“Ah. Yes,” Vanessa says, nervous. “Nate invited me.”

“And just how long have you two been dating?” Serena asks from the other end of the table.

“Oh,” Rufus says, eyes widening. “Dating.”

“It’s not – like that,” Vanessa says.

Nate makes a show of grabbing her hand. “Yes, it actually is. We’re dating. In fact, if someone wanted to maybe take a picture of us, right now, enjoying Thanksgiving as a couple, that would be great.”

Dan raises his eyebrows. “Because that’s not weird, at all,” he says to Jenny.

“You have absolutely no right to comment on the _weirdness_ of my relationship, Dan,” Vanessa says angrily. “This entire group is like a museum exhibit of the worst relationships in the world.”

“Excuse me?” Blair and Serena say in unison.

Eyes wide, Vanya turns to Dorota, who gestures at him frantically. “I enjoy very much the mashed potatoes,” he says, loudly.

* * *

Eric is on his way to the annual Friendsgiving; he’s bringing a bottle of wine and his now-famous roasted acorn squash. Every year, someone asks if it’s a family recipe, and Eric can barely contain himself. Even though most of his friends have already heard the stories, the French fry Thanksgiving always gets a good laugh.

* * *

Dan and Blair are carrying stacks of plates into the kitchen, which is already full of dirty dishes.

“I think that’s the last of them,” Dan says, wiping his hands over the sink.

“Thank you for helping with those,” Blair says. “But then, I suppose you still have the muscle memory. Once a cater waiter, always a cater waiter, as they say.”

Dan rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but grin. “It’s been a long time since anyone tried to use my dark cater-waitering past against me,” he says.

“Spare me the tales of your lonely existence,” Blair replies, bustling around the kitchen. “Make yourself useful and help with the coffee,” she says, shoving a French press into Dan’s hands.

“You know, Vanessa was a barista for years,” he says. “Maybe I should just run out and grab her- ow!“ Dan winces as Blair smacks the back of his head with an oven mitt.

“Try to remember that you’re here thanks to my generosity, Humphrey. Threaten me with Vanessa again and you’ll be walking back to Brooklyn,” Blair says, taking a container of tea from the cabinet and considering it. “Do you think Silver Tips Imperial or Broken Leaf is the better complement for pumpkin pie?”

“I’d be more worried about the potential scalding issue if someone decides to throw a drink,” Dan says.

“Oh, please,” Blair says. “I think this has gone well, all things considered.”

Dan raises an eyebrow.

“Well, no one’s actually stormed off in a huff yet,” Blair says. “And so far, no one’s punched you in the face. That’s a good sign.”

“It is an improvement on some past years,” Dan admits, rubbing his jaw.

“Although there is still time for that to change. If you don’t start brewing, it might just be me who does the honors,” Blair says, gesturing at the coffee tray.

Dan shakes his head and starts measuring out the coffee. “Uh, Blair?” he says, quietly. “I just wanted to say – thank you, for doing this.”

Blair continues to busy herself with a teapot. “Well, something had to be done. And the look on Vanessa’s face when Serena told that story about Leo DiCaprio’s secret island was rewarding.”

Dan laughs. “I’m not sure anyone other than my dad has ever uttered the words “flannel” and “acoustic” in Chuck’s presence.”

Blair smiles. “While it wasn’t the guest list I might have chosen, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Besides, Dorota thinks that Thanksgiving for two is a little depressing.”

“I see,” Dan says. “I’m glad… _Dorota_… got the big Thanksgiving she wanted.”

For a moment, the two are silent. “You know, it’s been hard for me, too,” Blair says slowly. “To lose... a friend.”

“I’m sorry,” Dan says, softly.

Blair shakes her head and picks up the tea tray. “It’s a one-day truce, Humphrey. That’s all,” she says, exiting the kitchen.

“Of course,” Dan replies. “That’s all it is.”

* * *

At last, the party seems to be winding down. Nate and Vanessa are putting on their coats, Rufus is explaining the details of Lincoln Hawk’s last tour to a bored-looking Chuck, and Serena leaves Dan and Jenny finishing slices of pie to go find Blair.

“Blair,” Serena says, glancing around the room nervously. “Can I talk to you? Privately?”

“Of course,” Blair replies, intrigued. She leads the way up to her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind them.

“What’s up, S?” Serena takes a seat on the bed, and Blair joins her.

“I’m not sure how to begin,” Serena says haltingly.

Blair frowns and places a reassuring hand on Serena’s shoulder. “You’re scaring me a little,” she says. “Is everything okay?”

Serena takes a shaky breath. “Not really,” she replies. “I got an envelope the other day. There were… photos, inside.”

Blair looks even more worried. “What kind of photos?”

“The kind no one can ever see,” Serena replies. “You have to promise me that you will never breathe a word of this to anyone. Especially not to Dan.”

Blair nods slowly. “Of course. I promise.”

Serena sighs. “About five years ago, Dan and I were… going through a rough patch. I’m not proud of this, but I did a little snooping on his phone. There were all these… messages. Between him and… Nelly Yuki.”

“Nelly Yuki?!” Blair shouts.

“Shh!” Serena hushes her and glances anxiously at the door.

“Sorry,” Blair says, quieter. “But, seriously, Nelly Yuki?”

“Yes,” Serena replies, shortly.

Blair shakes her head. “Wow. Who would have thought? Although, in fairness to myself, I did always know that Nelly Yuki was trouble.”

“Do you need to keep saying her name?” Serena asks with annoyance. “Anyway,” she continues, “Dan swore up and down that it was just the messages, nothing physical. He said they started talking about writing, and it ended up getting… emotional. I was pretty upset.”

“As anyone would be!” Blair responds. “I mean, secretly sexting Nelly Yuki behind your back? That’s pretty low, even for Dan.”

Serena sighs. “It wasn’t sexting. It was… worse, somehow. All these long emails analyzing his feelings about our relationship.”

“That does sound like Humphrey,” Blair says, musingly.

“The point is – I was upset, I was feeling insecure in our relationship... I wasn’t thinking straight,” Serena goes on. “I couldn’t stay in the apartment with him, so I went out to stay in a hotel for the night. And in the hotel bar, I ran into Carter Baizen.”

“Carter Baizen?” Blair says, surprised. “But didn’t he move to LA? I thought he was doing those superhero movies now,” she adds, with distaste.

“I actually got him the audition for that role,” Serena says, with a note of professional pride. “But this happened just before he left town. I was vulnerable, and Carter was there…” she trails off.

“And there are pictures?” Blair says softly. She can’t help but feel for Serena. They’ve been out from the shadow of Gossip Girl for years now, but that sense of being hunted, being watched for any misstep – it never quite goes away.

Serena nods, clearly holding back tears. “There must have been someone watching us in the hotel bar.”

“Oh, S,” Blair says, with sympathy.

“I knew it was wrong as soon as it happened,” Serena says. “And Dan and I have been so much better since then – we really recommitted to the relationship. I can’t risk this coming out and ruining all the progress we’ve made.”

Blair nods. “Do you have any idea who sent the pictures?”

“No idea,” Serena says, shaking her head. “it was an unmarked envelope, and the note was unsigned. You have to help me find out who sent it before they go public with the photos.”

“Of course!” Blair replies as she leans in to hug Serena. “We’ll figure this out. I promise, S.”

* * *

Nate and Vanessa are in the car home; Vanessa looks exhausted, but Nate still seems cheery.

“See?” Nate says. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Vanessa shakes her head. “It was pretty bad, Nate. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep doing this.”

Nate glances down at his phone, then goes still. “It looks like you won’t have to keep doing this much longer,” he says slowly. He hands over his phone, and Vanessa gasps. #NateArchibald is trending on Twitter. The photos have been released.

* * *

Chuck takes a deep breath as he enters his study. It’s been a long day. Worth it, though, to see Blair in her natural element; he can’t remember the last time he’s seen her so happy. He’s halfway through his pour of scotch when he notices the manila envelope on his desk. It’s addressed to him in large block letters, no postage. Perhaps one of the staff placed it here before leaving for the day. Chuck opens the envelope and lets the contents fall out. A few pieces of paper: financial documents, flight logs – and a note. _I KNOW WHAT YOUR FATHER DID. DO YOU?_


	5. To All the Boys I've Loathed Before

Blair Waldorf is performing a final outfit check in her dressing room when her phone begins to ring. Shaking her head, she steps out of her shoes. “Ugh. Dorota! Bring me the Louboutin boots. The ones with the little buttons,” she calls before grabbing the vibrating phone. “Hello?”

“Hello, Blair,” answers Vanessa. “Don’t hang up.”

“Vanessa?” Blair replies, confused. “How did you even get this number? If you left something behind at my house on Thanksgiving, it’s gone. I instructed the cleaning crew to dispose of anything made of cheap synthetic fibers. Goodbye!”

“Blair, wait,” Vanessa responds, gritting her teeth. “Believe me when I say I wouldn’t be calling you if I had any other choice. It’s about Nate.”

Blair steps into another pair of boots, then looks herself up and down in the mirror. “What about Nate?”

“Have you spoken with him at all since Thanksgiving?” Vanessa asks.

“Not really,” Blair responds, shaking her head at her reflection. “I figured he was lying low while those old photos were trending on Twitter.”

“It would be hard to lie much lower,” Vanessa replies. “He hasn’t left his apartment in a week.”

“While the thought that of you and Nate being denied the opportunity to hold hands and eat inexpensive foods in public is truly heartbreaking, I’m not really sure how it’s my problem,” Blair says.

Vanessa sighs. “Not only has Nate not left his apartment in a week, he’s not letting anyone else in. Including me.”

“Refusing to see you sounds like an argument in favor of his sanity,” Blair says, kicking off another pair of boots.

“Seriously, Blair?” Vanessa says angrily. “I’m genuinely worried about him. Since you claim to actually be Nate’s friend, I thought you might be worried too. I guess I was crazy for thinking you’re capable of caring about anyone except yourself.”

Blair rolls her eyes. “Forgive me for not going into a full-scale panic just because Nate has come to his senses and decided to stop seeing you. But because I _am_ his friend, and I _do _care about his mental health, I’ll check on him today. Does that make you feel better?”

“Believe it or not, it does,” Vanessa says. She is worried about Nate; so is the rest of the team at the _Spectator_. They’ve been holding it together, but the weeklong absence of leadership has been making everyone anxious. New York media is a cutthroat world, and Vanessa really does not want to lose her job. “Let me know if you talk to him.”

“There’s no way I’m doing that. Goodbye!” Blair says, hanging up. “Dorota! These are hideous. Bring me the black Chloés. Now!”

“Yes, Miss Blair,” Dorota says, attempting to gather a pile of discarded shoes in her arms. But before she can fetch the next pair, Blair’s phone rings again.

“Hello?” Blair answers, impatiently.

“Hey, B,” says Serena, sounding dejected.

“Serena!” Blair says, voice softening. “How are you?”

Serena sighs. “I’m basically losing my mind.” She lowers her voice and casts a nervous glance at her bedroom door. “I’m still so worried about that envelope.”

Blair nods sympathetically. “Have you been able to find any clues as to who sent it?”

“I haven’t even been able to look at the envelope again,” Serena says, sounding frustrated. “I’m so nervous that Dan might catch me.”

“Can’t you just wait until he’s out of the house? I mean, I know he’s going for the reclusive author thing now, but surely he must go outside sometimes. To attend terrible poetry readings, or replenish his supply of Moleskine journals,” Blair says.

“He goes out to write in a coffeeshop sometimes,” Serena says, “but I can never tell when he’s going to come back. I just need to find some way to guarantee he’ll be out of the house for a few hours so I can do a little investigating.”

“Actually,” Blair says slowly, “I think I might have an idea.” Dorota places one final pair of shoes before her; Blair steps into them and gives her reflection an approving nod. “I’ve got a few meetings this morning, but I think I have a way to keep Dan busy in the afternoon. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you,” Serena says, gratefully.

“Of course!” Blair replies. “I promised to help, and I will. We’ll figure this out together, S.”

* * *

Dan is unpacking his bag as he waits for his cappuccino; his favorite table has a clear view of the door, so when Blair walks into the coffeeshop, he sees her immediately. For a moment, he’s completely frozen in disbelief. _What the hell is Blair doing here?_

Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but Blair doesn’t seem to be in search of an afternoon jolt of caffeine. Instead of getting in line, she’s scanning the room with a determined gaze. Is she looking for him? Dan barely has time to register the mix of emotions he’s feeling. Panicked, confused, excited… but mostly panicked. He picks up his notebook and holds it open in front of his face, as if it’s a book he’s reading. Maybe she won’t see him; maybe when she doesn’t find him, she’ll text him, so that he can deal with whatever’s going on at a time when he’s a little more emotionally prepared.

Over the whirr of grinding beans and the quiet conversations of other customers, Dan hears the click of heels marching inexorably toward him. Impeccably manicured fingers appear at the top of his notebook, gently pushing it down to the table. “Hello, Humphrey,” Blair says, with a suspiciously sweet smile.

“Hi, Blair,” Dan says slowly as Blair sits down across from him. “Please join me,” he adds reluctantly, gesturing at the seat she’s already taken.

The two stare at each other in silence for a moment. Dan is the first to break. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised to see you here,” he says.

“Believe it or not, I’m actually looking for you. Serena suggested that this was where I might find you,” Blair says, with an airy gesture of the hand that somehow conveys utter disdain. 

“Looking for me?" Dan asks, eyebrows raised. "Up until now you’ve been pretty clear about not wanting to see me.”

“I’m calling another one-day truce. I require your assistance,” Blair says. “Apparently Nate’s been locked in his apartment for a week, refusing to talk to anyone. His phone is turned off. It seems like a welfare check might be necessary.”

“I did see that he was trending on social media,” Dan says. “Wasn’t it for some old pictures? Do people really still care about what Nate was doing in high school?”

“Well, without Gossip Girl around to remind people, the stories of our misbegotten youth have mostly been forgotten,” Blair says with a sigh. “But every so often someone digs up an old post and people are shocked all over again. It’s an endless cycle. Every three years I end up trending because there’s been a new BuzzFeed article about the 27 biggest royal scandals of all time.”

“So you came all the way to a coffeeshop in Brooklyn to ask me to go check on Nate?” Dan says.

Blair shakes her head. “No, I came all the way to a coffeeshop in Brooklyn to ask you to _accompany_ me while _I_ go check on Nate.”

“So – both of us, going together,” Dan says.

Blair nods impatiently. “Have you completely lost your grasp of the English language? Yes, both of us, together. Strength in numbers! We want him to feel supported. Come on, I’ve got a car waiting outside.”

“Oh, you mean – _now_?” Dan replies nervously.

“Yes, _now_,” Blair snaps. “Please save us both the embarrassment of pretending like you have anything else to do.” She stands, and gestures for Dan to do the same. “Come on!”

Dan gathers his things in a daze. “Isn’t there… someone else who could do this? Chuck? Serena? Jenny? I don’t know, Vanessa?”

“Chuck is out of town at a business conference. Serena and Jenny are both busy at their jobs, a concept I know you’re unfamiliar with. I’m not even going to respond to the Vanessa comment,” Blair says, ushering Dan out the door.

Dan gets into the waiting town car with a rising sense of unreality. Blair voluntarily seeking out his company? Something weird is definitely going on here. But what’s even more worrying is the fact that, without a doubt, he’s going to enjoy whatever this scheme is. Dan has almost convinced himself that he needs to let go of his attachments to his old life, to move on, to grow up; but every moment with Blair is a reminder of just how little he really wants to do that.

Blair pauses for a moment before getting in the car. _Taking Dan to see Nate_, she texts Serena. _Snoop away. I’ll give you a warning when he’s on the way home_.

Immediately, Serena sends back the praying hands emoji. _Thank u!!!_

Blair tucks her phone into her purse and smiles. She’s not quite sure why she feels so pleased. Maybe charity work _is_ good for the soul.

* * *

Nate is on the edge of sleep when he hears the soft ding of the elevator doors. He sits up on the couch, rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t remember ordering takeout, but then, the last week has been something of a blur.

“Nate?” comes a voice from the hall. “I hope you’re decent.”

“_Blair?_” shouts Nate, pulling his bathrobe closed just as Blair and Dan walk into his living room. “And _Dan_? What are you doing here? I told the doorman no visitors.”

He pauses to take in their appearances. Blair is wearing a white coat and stethoscope; Dan has on full scrubs and, oddly, a fake handlebar mustache.

“That’s why the disguises were necessary!” Blair says brightly. “You should probably call down to reassure Raimondo at some point. We may have given him the impression that you were experiencing a medical emergency.” 

Nate shakes his head. “How about you reassure him yourself on your way out? I don’t need any more attention, medical or otherwise.”

“Are you sure about that?” Dan asks, looking around the room. “Because it looks like a bunch of 15-year-olds threw a party in here.” There are empty pizza boxes, takeout containers, and bottles on every surface.

Nate sighs. “My housekeeper just hasn’t come yet this week, okay? I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” Blair says, tossing aside a dirty sweatshirt with a grimace of disgust and taking a seat in one of the room’s armchairs. “You’ve been AWOL from work for a full week. Vanessa was worried enough to call me about it.”

“I told her not to worry,” Nate says. “I just needed a little time to myself. Besides, I’m not skipping out on work. I’ve been doing media department stuff all week.”

“You mean this?” Dan says, pointing at the TV, which is frozen on an image of an extremely muscular man wrestling with some kind of fanged beast.

“Yes,” Nate says, brightening a little. “It’s an advance screener of a new Netflix show. I’m definitely going to tell Jeremy to write it up in the next TV roundup. Henry Cavill is like, this guy who hunts monsters-”

“Nate,” Blair says, holding up a hand to stop him. “You need to pull yourself together.”

Nate sighs. “I just thought I had come so far, you know? I felt like I was maturing and making a name for myself in the real world. But all it takes is one crazy person with a vendetta and some old Gossip Girl material and boom, it’s like I’m right back to being a teenager. All the things I’ve accomplished, the _Spectator_, the politics – none of it even matters.”

Blair and Dan exchange a puzzled look. “What do you mean, a crazy person with a vendetta?” Blair asks.

Nate rests his head in his hands for a moment, then looks up. “Weeks before the pictures went viral, I got a message. An envelope full of pictures, and a note threatening to ‘expose’ me.”

“Do you know who it was from?” Dan asks, leaning forward.

Nate shakes his head. “I get so much mail, and the _Spectator_’s offices are always full of people. No one noticed the envelope being dropped off. The only prints on it belonged to me and my assistant.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Blair asks. “I could have tried to help.”

“You have enough going on,” Nate says softly. “With work, your charities, Chuck… I didn’t want to worry you. I thought I could figure it out on my own.” 

Dan makes a silent note of Nate’s comment. Why is Chuck something Blair needs to worry about? He tells himself that what he’s feeling is curiosity; if the idea of Chuck and Blair’s marriage being in trouble gives him a thrill of joy, it’s just old Gossip Girl habits dying hard.

“Still,” Blair says to Nate. “You shouldn’t have had to go through this alone.”

“Yeah, man,” Dan chimes in. “We’re your friends, and we’re here for you.”

Blair and Nate both pause to give Dan an awkward look.

“I mean, I know we’ve maybe drifted apart a little in recent years,” Dan continues. “But I felt like we’ve been reconnecting recently, at Halloween, and Thanksgiving… I just want you to know that you can always come to me.”

Nate and Blair exchange another pained glance.

“What?” Dan says, turning to each of them.

“How dense can you be, Humphrey?” Blair says. “He didn’t tell you because he thought it might have been you who sent the envelope.”

Dan looks from Blair to Nate in disbelief. “Seriously, man?”

Nate shrugs. “I mean, the thought did cross my mind. You were the one who revealed it the first time around. I thought you might be digging stuff up from the Gossip Girl archives.”

Dan shakes his head. “There’s no Gossip Girl archives, okay? At least, not that I have. And, as I’ve explained many times, I’ve changed. For good. I left all of my Gossip Girl ways behind me years ago.”

Nate shrugs. “If you say so, Dan.”

“I swear to you – this was not me,” Dan says earnestly. “What motive would I even have for tormenting Nate?”

“Habit? An innate love of drama? Your long track record of demonstrated sociopathy?” Blair offers.

Dan shakes his head. “Gossip Girl was the biggest mistake of my life. Losing you guys, and knowing I deserved it… I regret those decisions every day. I would never do anything to jeopardize regaining Nate’s trust.”

Nate considers Dan’s words, then nods. “I believe you,” he says. “Besides, does it really matter who did it? The story is out there. The entire world now once again sees me as an irresponsible, sex-crazed teenager.”

Blair raises an eyebrow. “Have you actually read any of the articles people have been writing about you?”

Nate shakes his head. “No. Why would I subject myself to that?”

Blair quickly types on her phone, then hands it over to Nate. His look of trepidation slowly turns to surprise as he scrolls through the headlines. “Invasion of privacy... age of consent... #MeToo on the UES?” he reads off slowly.

“I’m not saying there aren’t some terrible comments,” Blair says. “But a lot of people are on your side, Nate.” She pries her phone gently from his hands and stands up. “Now that I’ve officially cheered you up, there’s just one last thing to discuss: the Vanessa situation.”

Nate grimaces. “Please don’t be too hard on her. I asked her to pretend to be my nice, normal, age-appropriate girlfriend to get ahead of the story.”

Blair shakes her head. “Well, I suppose she is one of those things. I can’t say I approve, but I understand why you felt it was necessary. Where’s your phone?”

Nate points at a side-table. Blair picks up the dead phone, then marches over to place it on the wireless charging dock. “You can have the rest of the weekend to eat your feelings, but at least keep your phone turned on. And go back to work on Monday.”

“It kind of defeats the purpose of being my own boss if you show up and tell me what to do,” Nate says, smiling.

“Even self-made media tycoons need a little friendly advice now and then,” Blair says as she gathers her handbag and shoos Dan toward the elevator. “Stay in touch.”

As he listens to the elevator doors closing, Nate can’t help but chuckle. Weird as they are, he does appreciate his friends. And the knowledge that he has some internet defenders is heartening. “_Toss a coin to your witcher_,” Nate sings softly as he grabs the remote.

Once Blair and Dan have made their way out of the lobby, they pause on the sidewalk. Blair is rummaging around in her bag, searching for her phone.

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” Dan asks, casting a glance back at Nate’s building.

“He’ll get through it. We all have a lot of practice in surviving public embarrassment, don’t we?” Blair says. “I’ll ask Jenny to text him later, to check up on him.”

“I guess you probably have other things to do now,” Dan says hesitantly.

“Probably,” Blair agrees, distracted by her phone. _Nate got an envelope too_, she texts Serena.

“Oh, yeah, of course, that makes sense,” Dan says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “You must have work stuff.”

“Yes! Work,” Blair replies as her phone starts to ring. “In fact, this is work right now. Excuse me while I take this.” She quickly walks down the sidewalk, out of Dan’s earshot.

“Hey, S,” Blair answers, with a furtive look over her shoulder.

“Nate got an envelope too?” Serena asks quickly. She’s sitting at her desk, with papers, photos, and a small bowl of berries spread out in front of her.

“Apparently,” Blair says. “He said he got a threatening message, and then a few weeks later, the photos leaked. He didn’t seem to have any idea who sent it. According to him, there were no prints, and no leads.”

“Well, that’s not very helpful,” Serena says, as she rustles the papers on her desk anxiously. “I’m not having any luck so far. Is there any way to keep Dan busy for another couple of hours?”

“I’ll figure something out,” Blair says, giving Dan’s distant figure a contemplative stare.

Dan is just beginning to wonder if Blair has decided to abandon him when she approaches Nate’s building once again.

“It looks like my afternoon meeting got cancelled,” Blair says.

“Oh,” Dan replies, blinking.

“What are you up to for the rest of the afternoon, Humphrey?” Blair asks with a calculating stare.

“Um. Writing, I guess? Or I was thinking about checking out that new Bong Joon-ho movie…” Dan trails off.

“You know, going a movie sounds like the perfect way to spend an afternoon,” Blair says. “I think I’ll join you.”

Dan gives her a confused look. “You want to come… with me… to see a contemporary Korean social satire?”

Blair nods. “I could use the chance to practice my Korean – that market is huge for fashion right now. And it’ll be just like old times! We can sit two seats apart and pretend not to know each other.” 

Dan doesn’t think he’ll be able to talk Blair out of this, and frankly, he doesn’t want to try. “I only have one request,” he says as the town car rolls up to the curb. “Can I change out of these scrubs?”

* * *

Eric is browsing the shelves at his favorite bookstore. A few years ago, he ran into his high school ex, Jonathan, here; Johnathan couldn’t stop gushing about his computer science PhD program and his new boyfriend. Eric saw on Instagram that they got married in a California vineyard a few months ago. Good for them.

* * *

Dan and Blair are walking out of the darkened theater in a crowd of matinee moviegoers.

“That poor family,” Blair says, shaking her head.

Dan nods.

“Well, not the _poor_ poor family. That poor _rich _family,” Blair clarifies.

Dan stifles a laugh. “It’s a scathing critique of capitalism, and you feel bad for the rich people?”

“Good help is _so _hard to find,” Blair says seriously.

This time Dan can’t help but laugh out loud. “You don’t feel the slightest bit of guilt, after watching a movie that challenges us to acknowledge the parasitism of the idle rich?”

“Please, spare me the diatribe about your lord and savior Bernie Sanders,” Blair says, rolling her eyes. “You know you’re also rich now, right? In fact, I think you’d probably be right in front of me in the line for the guillotine.”

“How would I be guillotined before you?” Dan scoffs. “Don’t you own a company? Not sure how well that’ll go over in the socialist revolution.”

“At least I work for a living,” Blair replies.

“Right, because your girl-boss, faux-feminist capitalism is doing the world so much good,” Dan says, shaking his head.

“Well, I do have to consider the bottom line,” Blair shrugs. “Republicans buy clothes, too.”

“I’m sure you have a wonderful time discussing that concept with the Kushners at parties,” Dan says accusingly.

“Ugh. After they moved to DC and became completely full of themselves, they’re dead to me,” Blair says. “I was on the planning committee for last year’s Public Art Fund spring benefit, and guess who got not-so-accidentally left off the guest list?” Blair smiles smugly. “I have it on good authority that Ivanka was furious.”

Dan laughs. “Ah, well, it sounds like you take your political views _very_ seriously.”

Blair shakes her head. “I made Ivanka Trump cry. What have you ever done for your country? And no,” she adds, “owning one free AOC t-shirt doesn’t count.”

“Hey,” Dan objects. “I _bought_ that t-shirt.”

They’ve reached the doors of the theater, both flushed and laughing. Blair is surprised to realize that she feels a little giddy. It’s just the thrill of scheming, she tells herself. She’s so busy with real work nowadays; a secret errand with a verbal sparring partner holds a certain nostalgic charm. It has nothing to do with Chuck being gone for the weekend. And nothing at all to do with Humphrey; in fact, she’s definitely still angry at Dan. That must be why it feels so satisfying to argue with him.

Dan pushes open a door and allows Blair to pass through, trying very hard not to notice the small thrill he gets when she’s physically close. He can’t remember the last time he and Serena had a conversation about politics. Or movies. Or anything, really. He only wants to mend his friendship with Blair for the sake of his own moral redemption. What other reason could he possibly have?

“It was nice of you to go see Nate,” Dan says, changing the subject.

Blair shrugs. “What are friends for, if not to drag us out of social-media-induced darkness?”

“Well, speaking of dragging people out of the darkness,” Dan replies, “thank you for bringing me along.”

Their eyes meet. Dan’s not quite sure how to read the expression on Blair’s face. He has a sudden sense of déjà vu; a memory of being at some idiotic party, standing just about this close to her, wondering if she wanted him to kiss her. He should definitely not be thinking about kissing Blair right now.

“Well,” Dan says, looking away with an awkward cough. “Now that you’ve played hooky for a full afternoon, I assume you have to get back to work.” He’s half hoping she’ll contradict him.

Blair nods absentmindedly. “I have a video meeting with some Chinese stakeholders tonight, and some new designs to look over. And of course, _Ask Blair._”

“Ask Blair?” Dan repeats.

“My weekly column in _The Cut_,” Blair says, pulling her phone from her bag. “Lifestyle, fashion, and relationship advice for the wealthy and fabulous. Although, frankly, the quality of submissions has been going downhill lately. Last week I got an email asking whether or not to go on a pre-paid cruise with an ex,” she says, eyes widening in disbelief. “As if _I _would know anything about commercial cruises!”

“You know,” Dan says, feeling reckless, “if you maybe needed a commoner’s perspective…”

Blair glances down at her lock screen. One new message from Serena.

“…we haven’t even really talked about Nate’s mysterious enemy yet…”

_All clear_, reads the preview of Serena’s text. _You can send Dan home now._

He’s still rambling. “…you did, technically, drag me out on this mission before I got my coffee…”

Blair swipes away the message preview and looks up, into Dan’s nervous face.

“Coffee sounds good,” she says, dropping her phone back into her purse. 


	6. Midwintar

Dan is shrugging on a coat and grabbing his keys, preparing to head out into the December chill. Normally he lingers over breakfast a little longer, but Serena seems to be working from home today, and Dan needs some peace and quiet - for the first time in a long while, he’s itching to put pen to paper. But as Dan swings open the door, he finds Nate Archibald on his doorstep. 

“Hey, man!” Dan says, surprised. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Hey, Dan,” Nate smiles. “Nice to see you, too.”

“You’re looking… better,” Dan says, looking Nate up and down.

“I’m feeling better,” Nate says. “Seriously!” he adds, as Dan continues to inspect him. “No more Howard Hughes-ing in my apartment, I promise.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Dan replies. The sight of Nate appropriately suited does bring him a sense of peace. 

“It’s weird,” Nate says, shaking his head, “but I’m actually kind of glad those photos came out. I mean, Ronan Farrow wants to interview me… but like, in a good way.”

“Yeah,” Dan replies. “A lot of the articles I saw were pretty sympathetic. The New York media scene is closing ranks, I guess.” 

Nate nods. “I’ve actually read a couple that really made me think, man. I mean, some of the things that happened when we were in high school were pretty messed up.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Dan says slowly, not sure if Nate’s joking. “I think messed up would be putting it mildly.”

Nate claps Dan on the shoulder and looks at him seriously. “I don’t just mean the stuff that happened to me, Dan. I’m talking about the stuff that happened to all of us. I mean, didn’t you sleep with our English teacher senior year? That was seriously not cool. I mean, it was obviously hot. But not cool,” Nate says earnestly, shaking his head. 

Dan gives Nate a quizzical look. “Is that why you came by? To help me process my repressed trauma?”

“I’m actually here to see Serena,” Nate says. “She didn’t mention I was coming over?” 

“Oh,” Dan says, trying to hide his confusion. “No. It must have slipped her mind.” 

He pauses awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, before stepping outside and allowing Nate to pass into the house. 

“We should definitely grab coffee sometime, though, man,” Nate says, turning back for a moment. “We can talk about all of those repressed traumas,” he adds, grinning.

“Definitely,” Dan says slowly. Since when does Serena invite Nate over for breakfast? Maybe Blair asked her to help cheer him up. But if that’s the case, why didn’t Serena mention it? It almost seems like she didn’t want him to know Nate was coming over; in fact, she practically shoved him out the door this morning. For a brief moment, Dan feels a spark of curiosity; but then, shifting the laptop bag on his shoulder, he sets off down the street. After all, he has other things to worry about. 

Nate enters the house, hearing Dan shut the door behind him. “Serena?” he calls out. 

“Nate!” Serena shouts back. “In the kitchen!”

Nate enters the kitchen to find Serena, who is anxiously jabbing a bowl of raspberries with a fork. “Hey,” she smiles. “Thank you so much for coming over.”

“Of course!” Nate says. “But you can tell Blair that her plan to cheer me up is no longer necessary. I’m back to work and totally fine.”

“I’m really glad to hear that,” Serena says. “But Blair didn’t ask me to invite you over.” 

“Oh,” Nate says, surprised. “What’s up?"

Serena hesitates. “Blair mentioned that you think someone leaked those old photos intentionally.” 

Nate nods. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. I got this weird envelope full of photos and a threatening note, and then a few weeks later the same photos went viral. It can’t be a coincidence.” 

“Do you have any idea who did it?” Serena asks. 

“No,” Nate says, shaking his head. “I got the envelope on Halloween, right after your party. The doorman said my assistant brought it over, so obviously I asked her about it. It was left at my office at some point on Halloween, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when. I reviewed all the security footage we had for that day, but there are so many people in and out…” Nate trails off. 

“And there were no fingerprints? No… DNA?” Serena asks, a little desperately. 

“Nothing helpful,” Nate says. “I appreciate your concern, but at this point it seems like the damage is done. I’m not even sure it’s worth pursuing anymore.” He shrugs.

“Well, I don’t think the damage is done just yet,” Serena says slowly, gathering her courage.

“What are you talking about?” Nate asks. 

“I got a mysterious envelope too,” Serena admits. “With a threatening note inside.” 

“And old pictures from Gossip Girl?” Nate asks, excited. 

“Um. Yeah,” Serena agrees with a slow nod. “Old pictures from Gossip Girl.” 

Nate looks shocked. “This changes everything. I thought it was just someone out to get me, but if you got one too…”

“Will you help me figure out who sent them?” Serena says. 

“Of course,” Nate reassures her quickly. 

“That is, if Vanessa can spare you,” Serena adds, with a hint of malice.

Nate winces. “I doubt Vanessa will care much, since we were only pretending to be together for the publicity. I thought appearing to have a normal girlfriend might help me ride out the scandal.” 

“Oh,” Serena says, pleasantly surprised. Maybe things aren’t so bad, after all. 

* * *

Chuck is riding home in his limo. The conference in Geneva was a waste of time; he could barely focus on networking, leaving his after-party early to sit alone in his hotel room and pore over the mysterious documents he received on Thanksgiving. Who sent them? And what do they mean? 

* * *

“...and then at three we have a call with the vegan cactus leather people. And the Chinese buyers at 7:30.” Jenny’s using one hand to scroll through her iPhone, scribbling notes with the other. 

Blair continues to type furiously, barely glancing over. “7:30? And Shanghai is twelve hours ahead... 早上好,” Blair mutters.

“Oh, and someone dropped off a dress for you,” Jenny adds. 

“Mmm,” Blair nods, distracted. “Must be the gown for New Year’s Eve.”

“What are you doing this year?” Jenny asks. “Cipriani? The Boom Boom Room? The Plaza masquerade?”

“Let’s see. This year I will be attending…” Blair picks up her planner and flips a few pages. “Ah. Looks like the Snowflake committee is throwing a charity gala at the Cloisters.”

“Sounds fun,” Jenny offers weakly. 

“It sounds incredibly dull,” Blair replies. “But I’ll rise to the occasion.”

Jenny snaps her notebook closed and stands up. “I should go pull the cactus leather designs. If this meeting goes well, we’ll be ahead of schedule for Fashion Week.” 

Blair nods. “I know I don’t have to tell you how important this Fashion Week show is-”

“I know, I know,” Jenny interrupts. “Eleanor hasn’t tried to meddle at all?”

“Surprisingly enough, she’s been completely hands-off so far. And if we can pull off a successful show during Fashion Week, I think she’ll finally admit that she’s ready to retire for good.” For all practical purposes, Blair has been managing Waldorf Designs for years; however, her mother has remained the nominal head of the company. Blair feels ready to work without the safety net of Eleanor’s watchful eye, but she knows her mother will require convincing.

“It’s going to be fine,” Jenny says encouragingly. 

“It’s going to be _ perfect _ ,” Blair asserts, somewhat maniacally. “But,” she continues, taking a deep breath, “all in good time. Right now I’ve got to deal with the fact that I have a 2pm deadline on my latest _ Ask Blair _ column, but all of the questions are too horrible to answer.” 

“That bad?” Jenny asks, gathering her things. 

“Let’s see… this one’s boyfriend won’t stop playing video games… this one’s worried about the climate implications of a private jet… ‘would it be wrong to sell my mother’s prized collection of frog statuettes?’” Blair sighs heavily. “Sometimes I don’t know why I bother.” 

Jenny has walked around to read over Blair’s shoulder. “How about that one?” she says, pointing at the most recent email. 

Blair clicks the message open and reads. 

_“Dear Blair, I am an only child in line to inherit my recently deceased grandmother’s extensive luxury perfume empire. However, the conditions of her last will and testament stipulate that I must marry her widower, my step-grandfather Jean-Claude, in order to inherit; if I choose not to marry him, I am left penniless and everything goes to my scheming cousin Frédérique. Should I marry the old man and attain my rightful place, or spurn him and make my own way in the world?” _

Blair leans back in her chair and steeples her fingers together. “Finally, a question I’m qualified to answer.”

* * *

Vanessa is exiting the film shop, looking at one of the prints she just picked up; she’s got some great shots for her photo-essay on polyamorous couples for the _ Spectator _. As she steps out onto the sidewalk, she immediately bumps into someone and drops the photos. “Hey! Look where you’re going,” Vanessa says angrily, crouching to gather the prints up off the ground. 

“I’m so sorry,” comes a warm and apologetic voice. 

Vanessa looks up sharply. Rufus is kneeling on the ground next to her, a few photos in his hands. 

“Rufus,” she says. He smells like a warm waffle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, smiling. He hands her the photographs, his fingertips brushing hers.

* * *

New Year’s Eve has finally arrived, and the Waldorf-Basses have arrived at the Cloisters. Blair is standing in the nave, holding a glass of champagne. Chuck’s been off taking a call for an awfully long time. She spies Nate across the room and waves. “Nate!” she smiles. “Happy almost-new year.”

“Hey, Blair.” Nate smiles, but looks distracted. “Have you seen Serena?”

“No,” Blair says, shaking her head. “But she told me she was on the way. Are you looking for her?”

“I think I might know who’s out to get me,” Nate says, looking excited. “We just did a profile on Hoan Ton-That for the_ Spectator _.” 

Blair raises an eyebrow. 

“I pulled the _ Spectator’s _security video from the day my envelope got dropped off, and I had Hoan run it through his facial recognition software,” Nate continues. 

“Is that… legal?” Blair asks, intrigued. 

“I think technically, yes,” Nate shrugs. “But guess who was at the _ Spectator _offices on the afternoon my envelope was delivered?” Nate leans forward to be sure Blair can hear. “My cousin Tripp’s ex-wife Maureen.”

“As in, Cousin Tripp who had an affair with Serena,” Blair asks, “and tried to Chappaquiddick her?”

Nate nods. “The same cousin Tripp who _ also _ tried to murder me, and was subsequently exiled from the family.” 

Blair shakes her head. “Which gives Tripp an excellent motive to hurt you. But why would _ Maureen _ still be holding a grudge?”

“Maureen?” Serena says, walking up to Nate and Blair. “Tripp van der Bilt’s ex-wife?”

“Serena, there you are!” Nate says, excited. “I think she might be the one who sent me the envelope and released those old photos.” 

“What makes you say that?” Serena asks, eyes widening. 

Nate begins again. “The_ Spectator _ did an interview with the founder of a new facial recognition company, and I asked him to try matching security footage from the day my envelope was dropped off. Purely as a demonstration, of course.” 

Serena frowns. “Is that legal?” she asks, sounding confused. 

“I don’t know. Probably,” Nate sighs. “But that’s not the point. The point is, Maureen was at my office that day.” 

“How come _ you _ didn’t spot her when you first reviewed the video footage?” Blair asks. 

Nate rolls his eyes. “Do you know how difficult it is to watch 24 hours’ worth of surveillance footage? She’s only in the frame for a split second; she was probably trying to avoid the security cameras.” 

“So you think it might be Maureen,” Serena says slowly.

“Yes,” Nate says, impatient. “But we need to move fast if we’re going to catch her. Apparently she’s leaving the city tonight.”

“Who travels on New Year’s Eve?” Blair says, raising an eyebrow. “And, more importantly, why would Maureen have sent you the envelope?”

“I don’t know, Blair,” Nate says. “But Serena and I are the ones who got the envelopes, and Maureen is linked to both of us.” 

Blair looks at Serena, surprised. “You and Serena… both… got envelopes?”

Nate looks horrified. “I’m so sorry, Serena. I thought Blair knew.” 

Serena smiles tersely. “It’s fine, Nate,” she says, turning to Blair with a meaningful look. “I also got an envelope, just like Nate. And just like the one Nate got, it was full of old photos from the Gossip Girl era.” 

“Ah,” Blair says. “_Old _ photos.”

“Yes,” Serena agrees, continuing to stare at Blair. “Really old.”

Blair nods sympathetically. “Probably pictures of that time you killed a guy,” she says. 

“What? No.” Serena shakes her head, annoyed. “For the millionth time, you know I didn’t kill Pete Fairman. And the pictures were of... something else.” 

“Look, if we’re going to catch Maureen, we really need to get going,” Nate says. 

“Going where?” Dan says, walking up to the group. “We just got here.” He hands Serena a drink. 

Nate sighs heavily. 

“Allow me to summarize,” Blair says. “Nate thinks that his murderous cousin Tripp’s ex-wife Maureen is his mysterious envelope-sender. He used facial recognition software to identify her on security footage from the day the threatening note was dropped off.” 

“Is that legal?” Dan asks, looking alarmed. 

“Morally dubious but _ technically _ legal seems to be the verdict so far,” Blair says, glancing at Nate and Serena. “Maureen is on her way out of town, so Nate needs to rush off to stop her at once.” 

“And I need to go with him,” Serena adds, placing her drink on a nearby table. 

“Okay,” Dan says slowly. He looks from Serena to Nate to Blair, sensing there’s something he’s missing. “I’ll go grab our coats.”

“No!” Serena says quickly. “Don’t be silly. We shouldn’t let Maureen ruin everyone’s holiday. You should stay. To… drink champagne, and… look at art.” She throws a desperate glance at Blair. There’s a chance that Maureen could reveal what was really in the envelope, and Serena can’t let Dan witness that. 

Blair rolls her eyes in acknowledgement of Serena’s mute pleading. “Yes, Humphrey,” Blair says, flatly. “You should stay.” 

“See?” Serena smiles, relieved. “Blair will keep you company. Let’s go, Nate.” 

Dan is too surprised to say anything as he watches Serena and Nate rush out of the room. He turns to Blair. “Are you going to tell me what’s really going on here?” 

“I already have,” Blair says, refusing to look at him. “Ah! Chuck, at last.” 

Chuck is crossing the room, walking quickly towards them. “Humphrey,” he says with a small frown. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was here with Serena,” Dan says, still sounding confused. “Who just left.” 

“Unfortunately, I must do the same,” Chuck says, addressing Blair. “There’s been a development that requires my personal attention.” 

“On New Year’s Eve?” Blair says disbelievingly. 

Chuck raises her hand to his lips. “I’ll explain everything when I return.” 

Blair is torn. The secrecy, the “meetings” at all hours of the night – she knows something suspicious is going on. But at the same time, Chuck seems more lucid, more _ alive _ than he has in months. Whatever this mysterious project is, it’s giving him a sense of purpose. “Okay, Chuck,” Blair says, shaking her head gently. “Do whatever it is you need to do.”

“Thank you, my love,” Chuck says; then he turns on his heel and stalks out of the room.

Dan and Blair are silent for a moment, still reeling. 

“So,” Dan ventures at last. “Nice party.”

Blair sighs. “I guess I’d better call my driver.”

“You’re leaving?” Dan says, surprised. 

“Wandering the halls of a medieval monastery like some depressing Gothic ghost doesn’t seem like the most auspicious way to ring in the new year,” Blair says. “So unless someone makes me a better offer, I’m going to go home and settle in for a night of bubble bathing and macarons.”

“Actually,” Dan says, “I do have an idea.” He thrusts his champagne glass into Blair’s empty hand, then nabs a bottle from a passing waiter. “Come on,” he says, grabbing her wrist and pulling her towards the next room. 

“What are you doing?” Blair splutters, glancing around at the other partygoers. 

Dan doesn’t reply. He continues to lead Blair down the stone hallway, marching past faded tapestries and a few glittering objets d’art. The crowd of people has thinned, and Blair is praying that no one can make out her face in the candlelight. Dan brushes past a “Staff Only” sign and leads Blair up a set of narrow stone stairs. 

“Seriously, Humphrey, where are you taking me?” Blair asks. Dan drops her arm to push open a door. 

“Here,” he replies, switching on the lights. Blair stands in the doorway, surveying the room. It’s clearly not a public space; there are a few cluttered desks, easels covered in canvas, and empty frames leaning haphazardly against the walls. Dan gestures towards the sagging velvet couch, then the narrow medieval windows. “I bet we can even see fireworks from here.” 

“And where is _ here _, exactly?” Blair says, gingerly stepping into the room. 

“A staff room,” Dan replies. “They had some kind of command center up here last year, when I visited Serena on set. I think they were shooting _ Revenge Nun 2 _.” 

Blair looks around the room, hesitant. Dan plucks a champagne flute from her hand, then begins to pour. “I promise, you’re not locked in a tower. You can escape at any time,” he says, offering Blair the full glass. “I just thought we could wait here until Nate and Serena get back.”

Blair accepts the champagne. “I suppose it would be embarrassing if anyone ever found out I spent most of New Year’s Eve alone in the back of a limo. Although it’s not quite as embarrassing as spending New Year’s Eve with _ you _.”

“No one will ever know,” Dan assures her. “We don’t even have to speak to one another.” 

* * *

Eric and his friends have finished their dim sum and gone back to someone’s balloon-filled apartment to count down the minutes till midnight. Elijah and Ada brought a stranger along; Eric’s trying to remember his name. Liam? Maybe-Liam is refilling his glass of whiskey and smiling at Eric. 

“Smoke?” he offers, inclining his head towards the fire escape. 

“Sure,” Eric replies, smiling back.

* * *

Blair and Dan are sitting on the floor. Blair has kicked off her shoes, Dan has loosened his tie, and the champagne bottle is within arm’s reach. 

“Seriously?” Blair giggles. 

“Seriously,” Dan laughs, shaking his head. “We went backstage to meet the director and I swear to God, it was the guy from our senior year play.”

“Ugh, what was his name?” Blair says, taking another sip from her glass. “Julius?”

“Julian,” Dan sighs. “I know, because he introduced himself. _ Hello, I’m Julian Rawlins. You’re one of the kids who ruined my production of The Age of Innocence. _ It was like he was Inigo Montoya and I was about to die.” 

Blair laughs again. “Well, that play was a disaster.” 

“That was not my fault!” Dan objects. “If anything, I blame Nate. And Serena. And you!” 

“And Nelly Yuki,” Blair puts in slyly.

“You were an excellent Countess Olenska, though,” Dan says, attempting gallantry. “At least, before the second act.” 

Blair laughs. “If only I had known then that the role would prove prophetic.” 

Dan looks up at the ceiling, thoughtful. “I hope mine doesn’t.” 

“Our whole lives, already mapped out in high school?” Blair says. “That’s a depressing thought.” 

“Hey,” Dan objects. “I, at least, have changed over the past ten years.” 

“Oh, you have?” Blair says. “Did you speak to a single person other than Serena at our ten-year reunion?”

Dan winces. “Kati Farkas. She said: ‘_ Move, you’re blocking the door.’ _” Blair laughs. “It’s nice to be fondly remembered,” Dan says, wryly. He steals a glance over at Blair. “At least you noticed I was there.”

“Only so I could avoid you,” Blair says, rolling her eyes.

“You were probably too busy admiring Hazel Williams’ new husband to talk to me,” Dan says. “Understandable.”

“That was completely crazy, right?” Blair says. “I mean, the man was at _ least _ 80 years old.”

“True, but the ring on her finger was at least 8 carats,” Dan replies. 

Blair shakes her head. “You really lucked out as a gold-digger, Humphrey. Serena has money, looks, youth… imagine who you might have ended up with if she hadn’t forgiven you.”

Dan stops laughing and looks at Blair. She’s still smiling as she refills her glass, loose tendrils of hair falling gently against her bare shoulders. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Imagine.”

* * *

Nate and Serena rush into the lobby of the hotel, then hurry towards the concierge. “Excuse me!” Nate says, attempting to get the attention of the woman behind the desk, who looks like a twenty-three year old aspiring actress. 

“How can I help you?” she asks, somewhat woodenly.

“I need to know whether Maureen van der Bilt is still checked into this hotel,” Nate says, leaning forward onto the counter. “She might also be under the name Maureen Stewart.” 

“Um...” the concierge glances around, but there are no other hotel employees in sight. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to give out a guest’s information like that.”

Nate gazes into her eyes, then smiles. “Please,” he says coaxingly. “I just need to know if she’s already gone.”

Blushing, the hotel clerk looks over at her computer. “I guess I can take a look.”

Nate turns to Serena and winks. “Still got it,” he mouths as Serena rolls her eyes. 

“It looks like Maureen Stewart checked out about 20 minutes ago,” the concierge says. “Sorry.”

“Damn!” Nate shakes his head. “There’s no way we’ll be able to catch up with her.”

But Serena grabs his arm and points towards the doors. “Nate, look!”

A red-haired woman in a conservative wool coat is moving towards a waiting town car. Serena and Nate dash towards the entrance. “Wait!” calls Nate as they burst through the hotel’s doors.

Maureen is getting into the car. “Stop!” Nate calls, leaping forward as the doorman steps back in surprise. Nate places a hand on the open door of the car, breathing heavily. “Maureen, wait.”

Unruffled, Maureen gazes up into Nate and Serena’s anxious faces. “Hello, Nate,” she says calmly. 

“We know you were at the _ Spectator _offices, Maureen,” Nate huffs. “Why? Was it to leave the envelope?”

For the first time, Maureen looks confused. “Envelope? I’m sorry, Nate, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Do you deny that you came to my office, just before Halloween?” Nate asks, accusingly.

“No,” Maureen says slowly. “I don’t deny it. I did go to your office, but I didn’t leave anything. I came… to warn you,” she says, with a sad look. 

“Warn me?” Nate says, taken aback. 

“I was told that Tripp had come back to the city,” Maureen says. “I thought he might try to contact you, or even hurt you in some way. But it seems my fears were baseless.” 

“Oh,” Nate says. “I didn’t know he was back.”

Maureen nods. “It was a false alarm. I’ve spoken to your grandfather, and it seems Tripp has been in Florida for the past three months. He’s managed to stay away from the family for so many years. Perhaps he really has changed…” Maureen stares into the distance mistily. 

“Uh, okay…,” Nate shrugs awkwardly, glancing at Serena. “But Tripp’s not really why we’re here. Are you positive you didn’t leave anything at my office? An envelope full of pictures?” 

Maureen shakes her head. “When I saw you weren’t at the office, I left. I didn’t send you any envelopes or pictures or whatever you’re talking about,” she says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a helicopter to catch.”

Nate sighs, stepping away from the car. “Goodbye, Maureen.” 

“Goodbye, Nate,” Maureen replies, as the bewildered doorman steps up to close the car door. 

“Nice to see you again, too, Maureen,” Serena mutters as the town car pulls away. Nate and Serena watch silently as the car disappears around the corner. 

“Well, I guess that was a dead end,” Nate says at last. “I’m sorry, Serena.”

“You believed her?” Serena asks.

“I did,” Nate replies. “Did you?”

Serena nods. “Yes,” she admits. “Maureen was pretty convincing.” 

Nate lets out a heavy sigh. “Well, I didn’t discover the letter sender, and I dragged you away from the New Year’s Eve party for nothing. Do you want to try to head back?”

Serena checks the time on her phone, then shakes her head. “With traffic, there’s no way we’ll make it to the party in time for midnight.” 

“Oh, man,” Nate says ruefully. “I’m so sorry, Serena. This is the worst New Year’s Eve ever.” 

Serena can’t help but smile at Nate’s hapless, apologetic face. “How about buying me a drink to make up for it?”

* * *

“It’s just, like, I’m _ ready _. Really ready. And my mother still doesn’t see it,” Blair slurs, holding an upturned champagne bottle over her glass as the last few drops trickle out. “How long can she possibly keep holding my teenage mistakes against me?” 

Dan tilts his head, a bit bleary. “I seem to recall some mistakes in your early twenties, as well.” 

Blair waves a hand dismissively. “Teens, twenties, let’s not quibble over a few years. The point is, it was a long time ago. I’ve changed.”

“Tell me about it,” Dan says. “Sometimes I feel like Gossip Girl is going to define me for the rest of my life.”

Blair squints at him. “The difference is, you actually do deserve to be punished forever for that.” 

“I feel like that’s a little unfair,” Dan protests, ignoring Blair’s smirk. “But look - if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t force anyone to believe you’ve changed into a better person. You just have to keep doing the right thing anyway, for your own sake.”

“Thanks, Swami Humphrey,” Blair says, rolling her eyes. “What yoga retreat did you plagiarize that from?” But after a moment, she rests her head on the couch and continues. “But what if my mother’s right?” she asks, quietly. “I mean, what if I haven’t really changed at all?”

“Well, from the outside, it definitely seems like you’ve got it all together,” Dan says. “At least, that’s what Jenny tells me,” he adds hastily; there’s no reason anyone ever needs to know about his occasional, furtive, Incognito-mode searches for Blair’s name. 

“I’m glad it seems that way, at least,” Blair says. 

Dan hesitates. 

“Is it… Chuck?” he asks, knowing he’s walking directly into a minefield. “Are you two… okay?” 

“Chuck and I are fine,” Blair snaps, lifting her head and shifting away from Dan. “We always have, and always will, love each other.” This has never stopped being true, although Blair privately wonders at what point in their marriage it stopped being enough. 

“Oh. Okay,” Dan says gingerly. “It’s just, you know. He’s not here, so I wondered…” 

“Well, Serena isn’t here either, so if you’re going to worry about marriages, I’d suggest starting a little closer to home,” Blair responds, obviously still annoyed. 

“Yeah,” Dan says. “I guess I never realized how hard marriage would be. Which is weird, given my dad’s multiple divorces. Or, well, I guess the second one was more of an annulment…” He’s babbling. 

Blair’s shoulders relax a little. “Marriages require work. Like everything else,” she says, thoughtful.

* * *

Serena and Nate are sitting in a somewhat dingy dive bar; Serena’s plunging neckline and heavy jewels are drawing a few curious glances. Getting a drink with Nate is so easy - no weird silences or touchy topics, and he seems genuinely interested in her work. Though she has absolutely no desire to interrogate the thought, it does occur to Serena that this is one of the nicer New Year’s Eves she’s had in recent years. 

“Eleven fifty nine!” Nate says excitedly, and they turn with the rest of the crowd towards the televised ball. 

Serena smiles as she joins the chant. “Eight! Seven! Six!”

* * *

“Isn’t love about finding someone who makes you happy?” Dan asks, sounding frustrated.

Blair shrugs. “Sometimes there are more important things than being happy.”

Dan shakes his head. “I seem to remember a time when you wanted to be happy more than anything else.” 

“Do I seem unhappy now?” Blair asks, not meeting his eyes. 

“You…” Dan hesitates. “You seem like you could use a friend.”

Blair parts her lips, as if to respond, then pauses. Suddenly, a cheer rises up from the crowd of partygoers; noisemakers and shouts fill the air. Blair looks down at the delicate watch on her wrist. 

“It looks like we missed midnight,” she observes. 

“Blair-” Dan begins, but before he can continue Blair has slipped on her shoes and is standing at the door. 

She pauses in the doorway, not quite turning back. “Happy New Year, Dan."

And then she’s gone.

Dan can hear the strains of Auld Lang Syne rising from the party below; and sure enough, through the narrow windows, he can see fireworks. 

He knows she can’t hear him, but he says it anyway. “Happy New Year, Blair.”


End file.
